


Redirected Lightning

by idiot_son_doing_their_best



Series: Storm [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Equalist Asami Sato, Extreme slow burn, F/F, Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Part one of a trilogy, dark themes, plot heavy, some makorra (definitely not endgame)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 186,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiot_son_doing_their_best/pseuds/idiot_son_doing_their_best
Summary: Hogwarts AU. Sixth year Korra has bigger things to worry about than the Quidditch Cup and her new N.E.W.T. courses; the arrival of the mysterious muggle-born Professor Hiroshi Sato and his even more mysterious daughter is only a presage of the mounting Equalist Movement.





	1. The Sorting Hat's Warning

"You-Know-Who can't  _actually_ take away someone's magic, can he?"

Korra glanced at Bolin.

He was standing in the doorway of the compartment, the  _Evening Prophet_  clutched in a trembling fist. His eyes were even wider than usual, shining with concern and partially obscured by a dark curl. The image before Korra was both endearing and anomalous: a broad-shouldered, square-jawed young man quivering like a rabbit facing slaughter.

The extent of Bolin's innocence never ceased to surprise Korra. While others attempted to conceal departed innocence under the guise of ignorance, ingenuousness seemed to cling to Bolin.

Korra smiled and shook her head.

It was nothing more than a reassuring gesture. She possessed little certainty when it came to Amon; there was little known about the masked insurgent apart from his deep resentment of pure-bloods and half-bloods.

Amon was currently peering up at Korra from between Bolin's fingers. If it weren't for an occasional blink, she would think it was a muggle photo. Unmoving, unyielding, hooded, sinister–

Korra shivered.

She didn't know what was more frightening–the threat or the mask.

The mask was a product of bamboo, mostly pallid, save for beige patterns along each side with a disturbing resemblance to facial features. Two beige strokes curling down above the eyeholes and an upturned line where his mouth would be left the impression of a permanent smirk. The scarlet circle emblazoned on his forehead represented a new era, Korra had been told–an era without magical blood.

"Of course he can't, you berk," a lanky newcomer sneered, gliding past Bolin with surprising elegance for a boy.

Korra's lip curled.

How Tahno, a snarky seventh year with a reputation for cheating on virtually everything, became a prefect was beyond her.

He sauntered across the compartment to where Korra was sitting and smirked down at her. Korra's hand closed around the wand in her pocket–it was with every bit of self-control that she resisted the urge to shove it up Tahno's long nose.

"Haven't changed yet, love?" he snickered.

Tahno was already clad in long black robes; his prefect badge–Slytherin green, much stronger than the soft emerald of Bolin's eyes–was pinned to the breast pocket.

Korra scowled. "Shove off, pretty boy. We still have an hour."

Tahno grinned at this and flipped a wavy lock of hair out of his eyes for effect. "All right, all right. I'll leave you to flex your lady muscles for another hour, then."

Korra rolled her eyes.

In the same way that Tahno was slender for a male, Korra was rather stocky for a female. Years of Quidditch practice had lent her a sinewy build she was quite proud to boast.

Tahno glanced around the compartment. "Where's your playmate? I came to report my rounds to him," he drawled, looking unimpressed.

While it took a great deal to upset the otherwise good-natured Bolin, Tahno always knew which chords to strike.

Bolin turned on the Slytherin faster than a bullet. "You mean the ones Mako and I had to do while you and the other Slytherins were pissing around?"

Korra gritted her teeth. She wasn't exactly unsurprised, but having her expectations met was–for once–disappointing. "You lot are more work than help."

Tahno sighed dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, do tell!" He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I can see that this is getting nowhere. 'Twas lovely chatting with you folks, but I must be getting back to the…ah,  _privileged_  end of this train."

Korra leapt out of her seat and hurled Bolin's copy of the newspaper as the compartment door slid shut.

It was no secret that Bolin and his elder brother, Mako, were of the few pure-blood descendants that boasted little to no wealth. While most would treat the subject delicately, Slytherins seemed to take delight in picking at the brothers' wounds.

Korra glanced at Bolin, whose shoulders had gone slack.

"Ugh! How did that arse become a prefect?" she grumbled, dropping back down onto her seat with a huff.

"Dunno," Bolin muttered. "Probably 'cause Raiko takes bribes?"

Korra grunted in agreement as Bolin scooped up the discarded paper and sat down beside her.

"So what'd Amon do this time?" Korra inquired, nodding at the paper.

It was on rare occasions that a copy of the  _Evening Prophet_  was published–usually only when some great calamity struck the wizarding world.

Bolin's face darkened. "Apparently he used the Cruciatus Curse on the aurors guarding Azkaban and stole all the dementors."

Korra's stomach sank. Aurors were easily the best of the magical community when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts. The thought of faceless dementors prowling about London, causing havoc at Amon's command…

"I thought dementors weren't used to guard Azkaban anymore?" Korra frowned.

"Well, where'd you think the Ministry kept them?"

Silence enveloped the pair.

"…He must be pretty powerful to take down all those aurors single-handedly, yeah?" Bolin piped up after a while.

"Don't be stupid–he has an army of muggle-borns." Korra wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.

"I heard a lot of them are under the Imperius Curse, though. That's definitely him on his own," Bolin pointed out.

Korra turned to gaze out the window. "Where's Mako? Weren't you two doing your rounds together?" she changed the subject.

It was fortunate that Tahno wasn't in the compartment; Bolin was too clueless to pick up on the fact that Korra was–that  _Korra_ was–regrettably, inexplicably– _afraid_.

Bolin shook his head. "We were, but we had to split up after a while to cover the Slytherins' rounds. Blokes," he added. "Anyway, I saw him helping some girl with her bags on my way back."

Korra's head snapped away from the window. "What? What girl?"

It was foolish, really, the infatuation she had with Bolin's elder brother. Mako was decidedly good-looking, with intense amber eyes, a defined jawline, and a chiseled physique. His half-Japanese, half-British heritage had lent him features both velvet and ruggedly defined.

But Korra was more invested in Mako for what he was capable of. The seventh year was unfeasibly talented–Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, O.W.L.s in every subject he had taken in his fifth year–

Of course, he hadn't batted an eye at Korra for the past six years.

"Dunno, some new girl. Never seen her before," Bolin answered.

Korra relaxed. "Oh. A first year?"

"No, she was older–a sixth or seventh year, I think."

She stiffened again. "What? How can we have a new student in her  _sixth or seventh_  year?"

Bolin shrugged. "Maybe she's a transfer."

" _Transfer_? Do we even do that?"

"I reckon we do now." Bolin snorted. "Bet Raiko took a few bribes from her family, too–"

But Korra wasn't listening.

"Was she pretty?"

Bolin's face lit up at this inquiry. "Yeah, she was. Bloody gorgeous." His grin widened and his eyes glazed over. "Tall, dark hair, bright eyes, red lips–the whole deal. Merlin, that lucky git."

"I suppose I'm a troll, then?" a petite newcomer demanded.

The term hardly suited her. With a sunlit complexion and shortly-cropped raven hair framing delicate features and Kelly green eyes, she was stunning.

All the dreaminess evaporated from Bolin's expression. He leapt out of his seat, very pale in the face. "Opal!"

Opal Beifong was Bolin's girlfriend, who possessed at least thrice the intellectual capacity. It was endearing how the two complemented each other–though their squabbles could be rather unbecoming.

Opal was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring expectantly at her boyfriend.

"No, no–you're beautiful, too!" Bolin cried. He rushed to her and took her hands in his; it looked something like a bear coaxing a gazelle. "Dear, your beauty is as intense as Pabu's metabolism!"

As if on cue, the fire ferret peeked out of Bolin's trunk, blinking rapidly.

Opal rolled her eyes, though it was evident her jealousy had subsided. "You are  _quite_  the romantic, love," she sighed, dragging an evidently relieved Bolin to a seat. "All right, Korra?"

Although Korra had greeted Opal briefly at the prefect meeting several hours prior, she hadn't had an opportunity to really catch up with the younger girl. Like Bolin, Opal was also a first-time prefect, and a close family-friend.

"Brilliant," Korra beamed. "And you? How's the family?"

"All right, I suppose," Opal replied with another sigh. "Huan and Wei and Wing are all having a fit because they got passed over to be prefect. Mum reckons the twins would've blown up the prefects' bathroom, given the chance."

Korra grinned widely at this, but before she could respond another student entered the compartment.

"Really? You're all lounging around when we only have thirty minutes left?"

Korra didn't need to look to confirm; the suave voice alone made her stomach somersault.

"Oh, shut up and have a seat," Bolin grinned. "No need to get your Head Boy panties in a knot."

Mako did not look amused. "Bolin, you're in charge of the first years."

Ignoring Bolin's wail of protest, Korra sprung out of her seat and pranced over to Mako. "Tahno was here looking for you," she reported, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Korra was by no means short, but Mako towered above her, and gazing down at her like this, he was rather intimidating.

He appraised her wearily.

Korra was bubbling with questions–how were his rounds? Was he hungry? Could she do anything to help? She especially wanted to ask about the bloody gorgeous girl with dark hair, bright eyes, and red lips–

"That's wonderful." Mako brushed past her and began rummaging through his trunk. After a moment, he paused and glanced back. "We need to come up with new strategies this year. Slytherin has held the Quidditch Cup for too long, don't you think?" Mako added, noticing how Korra's face had fallen. When she nodded brightly, he barked, "Now get dressed. All of you."

And so the girls pushed the boys out of the compartment and the quartet changed into their robes. The last of the sun had dipped out of sight, and the gold of twilight was snuffed out by darkness. As the quartet gathered their things, lanterns along the panels blazed to life, and the compartment was filled with warm chatter.

 

* * *

 

"You look cute," Korra commented only half-jokingly as Mako fiddled with his pointed black hat.

His quiff had been squashed under the headwear, and he had been silently obsessing over it for the past twenty minutes.

Mako rewarded Korra with a scowl. "I'm taking this ruddy thing off as soon as we get to the common room."

"It's only for tonight," Korra reminded him.

Mako conceded with a grunt.

The pair was making their way to the Great Hall unaccompanied. Although it wasn't out of the ordinary for Mako to be arriving late to the entrance ceremony as Head Boy, Korra had had to step in on her cousin's part, as Eska didn't believe overseeing the carriages was important enough to require her attention.

Mako and Korra slipped in through the grand doors unnoticed over the commotion in the Great Hall.

The hall was as vast as Korra remembered it, with walls stretching up infinitely to meet what appeared to be an open sky. However, she knew it was only enchanted to resemble the sky above–which was currently clear and speckled with stars. Thousands of candles floated above the inhabitants, and although Korra knew they were enchanted as well, she couldn't help but entertain the idea of one plummeting and setting fire to Tahno's robes.

Four long tables–all covered with golden plates and goblets–filled the length of the hall, each belonging to one of the four Houses. On the far left was Gryffindor, boasting a scarlet-and-gold banner emblazoned with a lion; second from the left was Ravenclaw, with a blue-and-bronze banner adorned with an eagle; second from the right was Slytherin, flaunting a green-and-silver banner embellished with a serpent; on the far right was Hufflepuff, with a yellow-and-black banner emblazoned with a badger. All four tables were rumbling with conversation, and Korra could pick up snippets such as "tortured aurors" and "stolen dementors."

Bolin and Opal were already sitting at the Hufflepuff table, while Huan, Eska, and Desna, Eska's twin brother, were at the Ravenclaw table. Tahno caught Korra's eye from the Slytherin table, and she returned his smirk with a glower.

Tu, Mako's cousin, waved them over to the Gryffindor table.

"You two would've missed the Sorting at this rate," he chastised as they took their seats across from him.

Tu was the same age as Mako, and like his cousin, seemed to take delight in exerting (nonexistent) authority over others.

"Put a sock in it," Mako advised.

"When's the first practice, Captain?" Wei and Wing chorused from Tu's left.

Korra was amused–all three boys were muscular, green eyed, and dark-haired, and all three seemed to have nothing but Quidditch on their minds.

Mako was no exception.

"As soon as possible," he declared. "I've been thinking of strategies over the summer–just have to make sure Kai doesn't screw things up–"

Their discussion was cut short when Headmaster Raiko, a broad, gaunt-faced, bespectacled wizard in his fifties, stood from the throne-like gold chair in the center of the High Table.

"I would like to draw everyone's attention to the front of the hall–the Sorting ceremony is about to begin," he announced in a booming voice that carried out over the hall. Everyone immediately fell silent. Raiko drew his wand and–in one sweeping motion–summoned a stool before the High Table. "Professor Bumi, if you would please fetch the Sorting Hat."

Bumi, a wild-haired, big-bellied wizard in his sixties, leapt from the High Table–and tripped over the edge. Raiko pinched the bridge of his nose as the hall burst into laughter. After a struggle to regain his balance, Bumi placed a filthy, frayed wizarding hat on the stool and returned to his seat (in a less ostentatious fashion).

A rip near the brim of the Sorting Hat–a mouth, of sorts–opened and began to sing:

" _Slytherin._

_Hufflepuff._

_Gryffindor._

_Ravenclaw._

_Long ago, the four founders lived together in harmony–_

_Then, everything changed when Slytherin declared_

_Only those of pure-blood were permitted at Hogwarts._

_Chaos ensued, rifts arose–_

_Only when Gryffindor parried was the feud settled._

_Slytherin absconded, balance was restored,_

_And for centuries, witches and wizards of all heritages have coexisted in peace._

_A thousand years have passed,_

_And it appears that peace is about to come to an end,_

_For we see the rise of Slytherin's rival:_

_A man whose goal is not equality for all_

_But rather, an end to magic, once and for all."_

For once, no applause followed the song.

Nobody spoke. The professors exchanged concerned glances. Raiko looked scandalized.

A murmur passed through the students, and another, and soon, everybody was talking all at once. Confused Hufflepuffs, skeptical Ravenclaws, outraged Gryffindors, disgruntled Slytherins, bewildered ghosts, uncertain professors–

In the midst of the commotion, Korra glanced at Mako. His face was grim and a little incredulous.

"You don't reckon it was talking about–about  _Amon_ , do you?" Korra whispered.

She didn't know why she was whispering–it was so loud that she could've shouted and nobody would've heard her.

Evidently Mako had, because he muttered, "Who else?" He shook his head in disbelief. "But how–why–?"

Before Korra could reply, a strident crack reverberated through the hall, effectively silencing the crowd. Raiko lowered his wand and cleared his throat.

"Rather than worrying ourselves over a cryptic message from an  _enchanted hat,_ I say we continue with the Sorting ceremony."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the Sorting Hat murmured.

"Professor Tenzin!" Raiko spluttered, very red in the face.

On cue, an incredibly tall man with piercing blue eyes and no hair (but plenty of facial hair) strode into the hall, a long line of first years stumbling in behind him.

Tenzin was the Deputy Headmaster, Head of Ravenclaw, and Charms professor. He also served as Korra's guide in remedial Charms, as she had failed to earn an O.W.L. in the subject the year prior, and her temporary legal guardian while she attended Hogwarts.

In fact, it was thanks to Tenzin that Korra was even able to attend Hogwarts. Tonraq and Senna had initially been reluctant to let their daughter travel to London alone to study magic for seven years (Korra hadn't really understood the fuss, since Tonraq had done the same during his time at Hogwarts). However, at Tenzin's assurance that he and his wife, Pema, would look after Korra for the time period, her parents had conceded.

Nonetheless, to everyone else in the hall, Tenzin was known chiefly as the son of Aang–the legendary wizard who had ended the reign of the Dark Lord, Ozai.

"When I call your name, you will wear the Sorting Hat and wait to be sorted. Once you have been sorted into a House, you will sit at the respective table and the next pupil will be sorted," Tenzin announced in his heavy, bass voice.

The first years fidgeted nervously.

Korra beamed at them, though she knew they couldn't see her. While Korra had never experienced that sort of anxiety herself–having had full confidence that she would be sorted into Gryffindor–she recognized the pressure of judgment.

The first new student was sorted into Slytherin, and the table second from the right cheered. As the Sorting continued, Korra scanned the High Table.

The Beifong Professors–sisters–were engaged in a heated discussion, no doubt about the Sorting Hat's warning. After apparently reaching an agreement, they returned their attention to the Sorting ceremony. The elder Beifong looked as cross as ever while the younger Beifong looked relatively appeased.

Lin, the elder sister, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Head of Gryffindor, was a pale witch in her early fifties with malachite eyes and graying hair, cropped in a fashion similar to Opal's. Time as an auror had resulted in her hardened persona–as well as two faded scars running down the right side of her face. Lin was both fond of and fed up with Korra.

Suyin, the younger sister, Transfiguration professor, and mother of Opal, Wei, Wing, and Huan, was a witch in her mid-forties bearing a striking resemblance to her sister, save for darker skin, sharper features, and an edgier haircut. It was rumored that she was responsible for the scars on her sister's face, but Korra had never really taken the time to delve into the Beifong's family history. Unlike her sister, Suyin's affection for Korra was unconditional.

Korra's eyes traveled farther down the table.

On Raiko's left was Professor Tarrlock, the Herbology Professor and Head of Slytherin, a tan wizard with long dark hair and defined features. He was, without doubt, the youngest professor at Hogwarts. Like Korra, Tarrlock was of Inuit descent; however, he was a native of the North Pole, while Korra hailed from the South Pole. He was a curious man, one Korra that knew little of–other than the warnings passed onto her from Tenzin.

On Tarrlock's left was–

"Hey," Korra muttered, nudging Mako, "who's that?"

A beefy man with parted graying hair and golden spectacles was surveying the students. He was wearing a broad smile, but that appeared to be the smile's only purpose–to be worn. The gesture didn't quite reach his eyes, which were russet and glinting unfathomably.

"Dunno," Mako answered once he realized who Korra was referring to. "New professor, I reckon." Mako didn't seem as perturbed by the man as Korra did. "Anyway, isn't that Ikki?"

Korra reluctantly averted her attention to confirm that it was, indeed, Ikki, Tenzin's youngest daughter, being sorted.

"Oh!"

Ikki was a slight thing, with steel blue eyes and brunette hair pulled into double buns. She was ordinarily quite talkative and unabashed in demeanor, but looked paler than usual as she made her way to the stool; she seemed to be the only student left unsorted. Her face disappeared beneath the Sorting Hat, and it sat on her head for nearly a minute before bellowing, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Although it appeared that Tenzin had been attempting to remain impartial, he looked relieved–as though he had been expecting Ikki to not be sorted at all. Ikki flitted down the hall to the applauding table on the far right, glancing at her elder sister, Jinora, a third-year Ravenclaw, for approval. Jinora responded with a shrug.

Assuming the Sorting ceremony had ended, the students resumed their conversations–only to be interrupted by another deafening crack. Raiko cleared his throat rather impatiently this time.

"Settle down," he ordered. Once the hall had fully quieted, he continued, "This year's ceremony is very special, as we will be welcoming our first transfer student to Hogwarts–" the hall exploded with whispers "–so please  _remain quiet_ ," Raiko continued more forcefully, "until Miss Asami Sato is sorted."

Raiko's request went unheeded, as the hall was now rumbling with discussion.

" _Transfer_ student, did he say?"

"Where'd she pop out of?"

"Asami  _Sato_?"

"They can't mean the heiress to Future Industries?"

"Isn't she sixteen?"

"Late to the party, if you ask me…"

But everyone fell silent, once again, when an impossibly beautiful girl entered the hall. At once, Korra realized that Bolin hadn't been exaggerating.

Asami was tall, easily taller than most models, and slender; her robes seemed to flow around her. Her complexion was fair, delicate, with smooth features and a sharp jawline. Her hair–silky, wavy brunette and parted to the right–cascaded down her shoulders. As Bolin had described, her eyes were bright–a vivid celadon–and her lips were red–scarlet, velvety; thin eyebrows arched over the lavender of her eyelids, accentuating the luminosity of her eyes. Asami Sato was glowing.

She looked uneasy, and inched out from behind Tenzin hesitantly. Finally, after several moments, she seemed to muster the courage to cross the hall; the grace with which she moved with was unparalleled, as though she was gliding across the floor.

Korra glanced at Mako, whose face was soft, for once; he was gazing quite fondly at Asami. In fact, everyone seemed to be allured by Asami; boys and girls alike were craning their necks to get a better view of her. Students peered at their new peer in fascination, and even professors seemed to be curious.

Korra's stomach churned.

How on earth was she supposed to compete with this dazzling stranger?

Asami sat down on the stool with all the elegance of a lady and pulled the Sorting Hat on. It didn't cover her face, as it had with the first years–though Korra found herself wishing fervently that it would.

A hush had fallen over the hall, and it lasted for what seemed to be an eternity. It was almost as though the Sorting Hat was having  _difficulty_  picking a House for Asami.

Finally–

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table beside Gryffindor shook with applause. Korra could see Jinora–she looked rather pleased–so did Huan, and Desna and Eska–they didn't really seem interested–

But most curious of all was Asami, who Korra could've sworn had cast a remorseful glance at the Gryffindor table. It was fleeting–and then she was looking at–their eyes met–was she–she couldn't be–was she looking at  _Korra_?

 _No, you idiot, of course she wasn't,_ Korra thought bitterly, realizing who she was sitting beside.  _Of course she'd want to be in the same House as Mako._

The idea of this incensed her more, and she scowled as Raiko rose again to formally welcome them.

"What's wrong?" Wing, the more perceptive of the twins, inquired.

"Nothing," Korra grumbled. "Pass the tea."

The dishes before them were now piled with various cuisines: roasted possum chicken, bison steak, roast duck, octopus fritters, dumplings, steamed buns, komodo sausages, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, carrots, and even jook (though nobody touched this); the pitchers were filled with green tea, black tea, kalenutsco, lychee juice, and pumpkin juice. These dishes were then followed by dessert, which consisted of moon cakes, mochi, kale cookies, custard tarts, tart pie, fruit tarts, bean curd puffs…

But Korra found that her appetite, which had been unbearable on the train, was nonexistent. Her mind was cluttered with too many things–Amon torturing the aurors and stealing the dementors, the Sorting Hat's warning, the strange man at the table, and most of all, this strange new  _girl_ –

"Aren't you going to eat?" Mako asked after a while, noticing that Korra hadn't touched any food.

"Oh,  _now_  you care?" Korra demanded, suddenly furious with Mako's obtuseness.

"What are you  _talking_  about–?"

Just then, the desserts disappeared with a  _zip_ and Raiko got to his feet, gesturing for silence.

"Now then, I have a few start-of-term announcements to make," he began importantly. "All pupils must be aware that the forest on grounds is forbidden at all times. Also, magic is not to be used between classes in the corridors. Next, Quidditch trials will be held during the second week of term. Those interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Xu, though be sure to check with your Head of House for eligibility.

"Finally, I am pleased to welcome a new addition to our staff: Professor Hiroshi Sato, who will be filling the post of Potions master."

Once again, the hall was in an uproar.

" _Hiroshi Sato_? The founder of Future Industries?"

"Potions? Isn't he a broomstick manufacturer?"

"Why's he at Hogwarts?"

"Father  _and_  daughter at Hogwarts? Knowing Raiko, they must've bribed their way in…"

At the less-than-pleasant response, Raiko added, "Quidditch fans will be happy to hear that Professor Sato has generously donated new Satobrooms for the use of all House teams."

The response grew considerably warmer, and although Mako and Korra shared a knowing look, Korra knew he was just as pleased by the news as she was.

Hiroshi rose to his feet, beaming widely at the students with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Thank you for welcoming me so graciously," Hiroshi said in a very professional voice. The manner in which he spoke was polite yet persuasive–no doubt, owing to his entrepreneur background. "I know you may all have your doubts, but I assure you that I take this post very seriously. I hope that you enjoy my classes as much as you enjoy my contribution to the school," he finished with a wink.

After the applause had died down, Raiko continued, "Before we go to bed, let us sing the school song–"

It was at that moment that all the candles in the Great Hall erupted into flames.

Korra was slow to react–she could make out students pushing and shoving each other–there was screaming–someone seized her by the forearm and drew her close–the flames were blazing now, embers flying in all directions–the air was heavy, searing–the tables were beginning to catch fire–

One of the professors–Tarrlock, Korra realized after a beat–leapt onto the High Table and bellowed, " _Aguamenti!"_

A powerful jet of water shot out of his wand and soon everything was dark. The screaming ceased. For a moment, all remained still, and Korra recognized the person holding her as Mako.

However, before she could say anything–

" _Greetings, students of Hogwarts. This is Amon speaking."_

Korra gasped. "No!"

" _I am here to tell you a story, and to warn you."_

The voice was gruff, chilling, and projected throughout the hall; it sounded like a cross between a growl and a rasp. Korra realized that she had never once heard Amon's voice and now every corner of her school was ringing with it.

Whatever mild tumult had started up again died at once.

The voice continued, _"Let's begin with the story. My quest for equality began many years ago, when I was a boy. My family and I lived on a small farm in Scotland. We weren't rich, and none of us were pure-bloods–or even half-bloods, for that matter; my mother was a muggle-born and my father was a squib. This made us very easy targets for the pure-blood supremacist who extorted my father. One day, my father confronted this man, but when he did, that pure-blood took my family from me. Then, he took my_ face _."_

Gasps echoed throughout the hall.

" _I've been forced to hide behind a mask ever since. Now, you Slytherins–"_ in the darkness, Korra couldn't see them, but she didn't need to; their fear was nearly tangible  _"–would tell me that pure-blood is magical–that magic brings_ balance _to the world._   _But, you are_  wrong."

It was horrifying, how assertively Amon spoke, how compelling his words were–how clear and precise they were. Whether what he was saying held any validity, Korra couldn't judge, but she was transfixed all the same.

" _The only thing magic has brought is suffering. It has caused irrational feelings of supremacy, and irrational feelings of hostility. It has been the cause of_ every _war in_  every _era. Now tell me, wouldn't a world without magic be much more reasonable?"_

The question went unanswered, and Amon sounded almost as if he was smiling when he spoke again.

" _I understand you all may be very frightened right now, and you should be. However, I am willing to give any muggle-borns a chance to escape–leave now, and you won't have to suffer any consequences. I realize that you, like me, never asked for this, and do not deserve this."_

Very distantly, Korra could hear Raiko shouting orders to stop Amon's broadcast–to find the source and disable it–

" _For those that choose to remain, especially you_ half-bloods _and_ pure-bloods _,"_ Amon's tone had turned sour,  _"I will be visiting you for a personal demonstration on my conception of Equality. It is a demonstration of a power unique to me–a power that will make Equality a reality: the power to take a person's magic away. Permanently."_

A flash of lightning shot across the enchanted ceiling (Korra no longer knew who was in control of it now) and earsplitting thunder followed.

Amon sighed, as though he had grown bored.

" _That is all I wish to share with you at the moment. Good night, students. I wish you all pleasant dreams."_


	2. Amortentia

“Fuck this,” Korra growled, kicking her sleeping bag open.

The evening’s events had ensued in absolute pandemonium, accompanied by haphazard evacuation attempts lead by prefects–at least, those who were willing (the Slytherins had mysteriously disappeared)—that had lasted the better part of two hours. This was followed by several roll calls, security checks, reports to professors–

All in all, Korra’s day, which had begun at an ungodly hour, left her with no respite until the impasse between midnight and daybreak.

And despite this, sleep had managed to evade her for the better part of the night.

Korra sat up and surveyed the room.

Once the dust had settled, the students–actually, all of Hogwarts’ inhabitants–had ended up in the teachers’ quarters, charmed with layers and layers of protective magic courtesy of Tenzin and Lin. The only distinction in their accommodations was that between the sexes; otherwise, all four Houses had been lumped together.

There was little light in the room Korra had been assigned–the sole source being the illuminated tip of Lin Beifong’s wand. There was no doubt as to why the rooms had been enchanted windowless.

Other than Lin’s silhouette, prowling vigilantly around the edges of the room, Korra could hardly distinguish anything else. She could make out the forms of sleeping students, but they could’ve been dumplings for all the perception Korra was offered.

She opened her mouth to call out to Lin–to offer her services and, when that was inevitably shot down, ask for a sleeping potion–

“Don’t move,” someone hissed, and Korra found the tip of a wand pressed against her jugular.

Her reflexes proved futile, for her limbs refused to cooperate with her attempts to disarm her assailant _–_

_A Body-Bind Curse? But when–_

Korra tried to cry for help _–_ but her voice was strangled in her throat _–_

Trembling, she raised her eyes to meet her captor’s.

Dazzling green eyes peered down at her, and Asami Sato’s lips curved up into a cruel smile.

“I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to get close to you when I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor, but then these _imbeciles_ went and locked us in a room together,” the other girl snickered.

_No—_

“You’re mine now, Chosen One.”

But it was no longer Asami looming over Korra, but _Amon_ –

“When I take away your magic, you will be _nothing_ –”

A gloved hand descended towards her–Korra tried to shut her eyes but they remained forced open–unyielding to the coming atrocity and compliant in her suffering–between her lungs, something stirred–a plea for help immortalized on her lips in a silent scream–

Amon’s thumb made contact with her forehead–a current passed through her, then the world was dark–

“You’re going to wake everyone up,” someone chided.

Korra thrashed in the stranger’s grip, her screaming muffled by the other’s hand. Finally, belatedly recognizing Lin’s raspy voice, Korra stilled. Lin waited several moments before releasing her.

“Some nightmare, huh?”

Korra nodded, unable to verbalize anything coherent.

The Head of Gryffindor regarded her sympathetically over the tip of her wand. This perspective–dark shadows drawn out over Lin’s sharp face, scars prominent against the harsh lighting–something like chiaroscuro–should’ve been frightening. But Korra had never been more relieved to see Lin Beifong.

“You’ll be okay, kid. I’m here.” The retired auror gave her a smile warmer than Korra thought possible of her. “Get some rest, you’ve had a long day.”

“Thanks,” was all Korra managed to mumble out hoarsely.

Lin squeezed Korra’s shoulder before returning to her post.

Korra sighed, running her hands through her hair. It was only when they came away damp that she realized she was sweating.

The room was pleasantly warm–but Korra was shivering. Dream or not, she felt like she’d been sucked dry of her magic–and if this is how that felt, numb, hollow, as though a chill had seeped through her veins and permeated her core–then to be without magic couldn’t have been different from being without one’s soul.

The feeling was far too real, seared into Korra’s memory indefinitely.

Korra exhaled deeply. Unable to support herself any longer (she was trembling too much), she succumbed to her makeshift bed once more.

When had she fallen asleep?

It couldn’t have been later than dawn (this supposition was supported by periodic snores)—far too early. Korra’s head gave a nasty throb, and she was seized with envy for those who had slept through the night.

Still, she was grateful for what precious little rest she got.

Deciding Amon could wait until the morning, Korra conceded to her body’s demands.

She rolled over in her sleeping bag, muscles aching with fatigue, until she was comfortable.

Across the room, peacefully asleep, lay Asami Sato.

Korra watched her until the ache behind her eyes was too much.

 

* * *

 

 “You look bloody awful,” Bolin remarked as Korra passed by the Hufflepuff table.

The younger student looked relatively well-rested. His eyes were as bright as ever–as though last night’s events had never transpired.

Actually, Korra realized his chipper mood probably had more to do with the plate of food before him (she suspected it was his second).

“You slept well? In spite of everything?”

Bolin shrugged, taking a bite of heavily buttered toast.

“I always nap whenever I’m stressed!”

That–was not at all a surprise to Korra.

The Gryffindor waved him off grumpily before continuing to her own table.

She was late to breakfast by all standards, and to her horror, Lin had informed her this morning (after a rude awakening) that classes hadn’t been canceled. (Of course, by the time she’d woken up, Asami’s sleeping bag had long since been evacuated and cleared away.) The professors seemed to share Korra’s sentiment; they all looked exhausted by their nightly duties and in no condition to teach a full day of classes. Korra didn’t know whether to be reassured or concerned by their lack of conversation.

The tension in the hall wasn’t lost on her, but Korra could barely keep her eyes open–a combination of her sleep deprivation and not having been exposed to any light for several hours. She was startled to find that the Enchanted Ceiling was—was no longer enchanted. It was the first time Korra had ever seen the ceiling of the Great Hall, and it was off-putting that the room had an actual end; she almost wanted to reach up and test if the lack of illusion was a mirage in itself. The plafond reminded her of the Sistine Chapel, with historic paintings of the four Houses sprawling across the massive canvas. It was vivid, mesmerizing, dizzying–but the most disorienting change of all was the marked absence of the floating candles, leaving the hall sparse and hollow, something like a great tale with a lack of climax.

Korra’s stomach sank.

What better testament to last night’s events?

“There you are.”

Korra had finally managed to locate Mako’s quiff amongst the crowded Gryffindor table. However, there was no warmth in his greeting; as usual, his tone was full of admonishment (the special brand reserved exclusively for Korra).

The Beifong twins nodded in acknowledgment as she took a seat beside the Head Boy. Korra had no patience for his authoritarianism this morning, and didn’t spare him a glance as she started piling whatever dishes were left onto her plate.

She’d only managed to grab a few komodo sausages and a slice of bread before breakfast vanished altogether.

“Blast it,” she muttered, settling for dry toast.

Mako didn’t take well to being ignored.

“Seriously, where were you?”

“Rough night,” Korra snapped.

“We all had a rough night,” Mako fired back just as swiftly. “That doesn’t mean you can go missing–”

Korra sighed, slamming her fork down. “Look, I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares. Lin had to drag me out of bed. Happy?”

Mako cleared his throat uncomfortably. He didn’t press further.

The twins glanced between them warily.

“Had us worried, mate,” Wing began carefully, as if testing the waters.

“Yeah. You missed the morning announcements,” Wei added.

Korra immediately stopped eating.

 _“After I take away your magic you will be_ nothing. _”_

“Oh, hell–” she dropped her fork “—fuck—what did I miss?”

The brothers looked at each other as though Korra was proposing a herculean task. Recalling everything that had occurred, she supposed she was.

“Well, Raiko got in touch with the Ministry–”

“—they couldn’t figure out where Amon’s broadcast was coming from but there’s been no sign of him since–”

“—they’re placing aurors around the school borders just to be safe—”

“—students can’t bother them—” Wei, the mastermind behind their pranks, appeared particularly dismayed by this—

“—and we have to return to the Great Hall during free periods for roll call–”

“—straight to class and straight to bed—”

“—basically, if you stuff up, you’re losing House points—”

“—any other free time is to be spent at the library or in the Great Hall—”

“—everyone has to travel with a partner at all times—”

Considering Korra and the twins were in the same year and had passed the same O.W.L.s (save for Charms, in Korra’s case, and Herbology, in the twins’ cases), she supposed this shouldn’t pose as an issue.

“—all incoming mail will be verified by staff first–”

“—current living situation is to continue until further notice–”

“—no Hogsmeade trips until further notice–”

“—all prefects have to patrol every night and make double rounds—”

Korra groaned. N.E.W.T. classes had yet to begin and she already had more work than all of her previous years combined.

“—and all Quidditch activity has been suspended until further notice—”

“That’s rubbish!” Korra interrupted.

The rest of the strictures, however bothersome, were reasonable. This, on the other hand–

“How are we supposed to break in those Satobrooms now?” Korra whined.  

Wei and Wing exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter.

“Priorities straight, eh, Korra?”

Korra paused before grinning sheepishly.

“That’s our girl,” Wing chuckled. “We’re with you, though.”

Mako, who had been silent since Korra’s outburst, piped up, “I agree. We still need to find our third Chaser.”

Korra turned away promptly. She knew she was being unreasonable, and this was perhaps more about a certain transfer student than Mako’s attitude towards her (which, she knew, despite herself, stemmed from concern), but she was too tired, too hungry, and something deep inside of her hurt more than it should. It wasn’t as if their six-year history meant anything–if one could call it that; they were very close friends at best, one far too preoccupied with a very one-sided infatuation.

Mako was never hers to begin with.

Korra moved to fill her goblet (fortunately drinks were still available as the Heads of House began assigning sixth year schedules), but found it was already full.

She peered inside to find coffee. Two creams, one sugar–her regular morning brew. 

There could only be one person who had prepared this for her.

Mako avoided Korra’s gaze, coughing indiscreetly. There was a faint reddish tint on his cheeks.

Beaming for the first time this morning, Korra brought the goblet to her lips. Instant relief washed over her as the caffeine hit her bloodstream and life, no matter how artificial and how transient, returned to her.

“So,” Korra began tentatively, turning to Mako (who was still evading eye contact), “what’d they say about the muggle-borns?”

Relieved that his rare expression of affection was not the topic of interest, Mako replied earnestly. “They’re being given the option of withdrawing for the year. They don’t have to go to classes today, so they have time to think it over, but they have to decide by the end of the day if they want to go home or stay at Hogwarts.”

Korra was overcome by a rush of simultaneous gratitude and disappointment that none of her close friends were muggle-borns; grateful that they would remain by her–and distraught, that none of them were safe.

“Blimey–that’s…that’s…wow.”

For once, Mako didn’t address Korra’s inarticulacy with a scathing look.

“I know…it’s really happening,” Mako murmured, more to himself than Korra, with a frown.

As Lin approached the twins to discuss their N.E.W.T. options, Korra suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, are you still taking Divination this year?”

To nobody’s surprise, Mako had scored ‘Outstanding’ on all of his O.W.L.s–even subjects he despised.

Mako crinkled his nose. “No way.”

“Still, d’you reckon you could…” Korra trailed off hesitantly.

Would telling Mako only dampen his opinion of her?

Still, it was an urgent matter. Given the extenuating circumstances, perhaps he would be more sympathetic?

To his credit, Mako was gazing at her with unprecedented patience. 

“Do I reckon I could?” he pressed.

Korra finished the last of her minute meal before mustering the courage to complete her question.

“…interpret a dream for me?”

It was Korra’s turn to blush. She was no longer looking at Mako, suddenly very fixated by her House tie.

Her request was met with silence.

_Maybe this was a bad idea._

The quiet stretched into what felt like an eternity, and just as Korra was about to retract the request or play it off as a joke–

“What did you see?”

Mako’s voice was quiet.

His somber approach to the subject made Korra wonder if he had dreamt anything unusual as well. But she decided to save that inquiry for another time.

Korra looked at Mako in shock before lowering her eyes.

There was no way she could recount the dream without Mako detecting the very palpable fear that still plagued her.

“Well…I saw…” Korra hesitated again. Given Mako’s current sentiments towards Hogwarts’ newest student, full disclosure would more likely harm than help Korra’s case. Deciding to omit the part with Asami, she continued, “I saw Amon try to take my–” Korra shoved her hands underneath the table so Mako wouldn’t notice them trembling “–my magic away. But the weird part was he called me ‘Chosen One.’ And when I woke up, it actually–” the admission seemed childish out loud, but Korra had already said too much to stop there “–it actually…felt like my magic was gone.”

Silence enveloped the pair once more.

Korra kept her eyes down.

Reciting (reliving) the dream drained Korra of whatever faux energy the coffee had granted, and the intense dread she’d worked so hard to suppress all morning had returned full force. She felt very un-Gryffindorish.

When Korra eventually garnered the courage to look at Mako, she found that his eyes were on her lap, underneath the table.

Of course he would notice.

Finally, Mako took a deep breath.

“I’m going to be perfectly honest with you–”

Korra braced for the worst.

“—I’m not entirely sure. I can’t tell if that’s an omen or just a nightmare. But…I’ll see if I can find something in the library during a free period.”

Korra gawked.

Mako seemed very serious about this. In fact, there wasn’t an ounce of ridicule in his eyes. Before she could say anything, Lin tapped him on the shoulder, and she was alone with her thoughts once again.

Despite having to revisit her fears, Korra felt lighter. There was something very reassuring in Mako’s confidence–if she could call it that–in her judgment. Perhaps she wasn’t a disappointment to her House after all.

Korra’s eyes wandered around the hall as she waited for her turn. It was mostly vacant now, as both younger students and N.E.W.T. students had already received their schedules. The High Table was virtually abandoned, with professors having rushed off to begin classes, save for–

Korra’s eyes narrowed.

She had spent far too much time studying Asami Sato to not be able to recognize her slender figure by now, even from a distance. The Ravenclaw was discussing something conspiratorially with her father at the end of the table; Hiroshi looked rather unsettled by whatever his daughter was saying. Korra couldn’t see Asami’s face from this angle, and there was only so much she could interpret from her hand gestures–

_Or maybe, you git, she’s just talking to her dad._

Korra deflated.

Both Satos were muggle-borns–famously so–and there was inevitably a conversation they needed to have.

Still, Korra caught herself wishing that Asami would go home.

“At least you’re awake this time,” Lin grouched as she sat down beside Korra.

The latter responded with a bashful grin.

“Now then…” Lin glanced at Korra’s application before flipping to her O.W.L. results. “You’re fine for Herbology, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration…” The professor paused before the edges of her lips twitched. “Good job on Defense Against the Dark Arts, kid.”

Korra’s heart swelled.

Of her O.W.L.s, most of which had been ‘Exceeds Expectations’ (and a singular ‘Acceptable’ in Divination, though she had no intention of continuing in it despite her amicable relationship with Professor Kya), Defense Against the Dark Arts marked her only ‘Outstanding.’

The glint of pride in Lin’s eyes was short-lived–her face immediately darkened as she caught sight of the next subject on Korra’s O.W.L. report.

Korra grimaced.

She knew what was coming.

“In all my years as an instructor, I’ve never seen anyone else get a _‘Troll’_ in Charms.”

“Well, in my defense, you’ve only been an instructor for a few years,” Korra shot back playfully.

She was uncertain as to whether she was trying to deter Lin or the knot in her stomach.

Lin did not look amused. “Cute. You’re going to have to take Remedial Charms _again_ with Tenzin…that’s the third time, Korra. If you can’t pass it this year at a fifth-year level, you’re not going to be able to graduate.”

Korra gaped.

“What? Why? Plenty of other people fail their O.W.L.s and graduate!” she protested.

Lin tutted. “This isn’t just about not passing your O.W.L., kid. You’ve repeatedly failed a core area of magic–and if you want to be an auror, you’re going to need it.”

Korra scowled and crossed her arms. “Why? What does making stuff float have to do with fighting?”

Lin looked as if Korra had suggested playing hide-and-seek in the Whomping Willow.

The former auror groaned, as though Korra had personally offended her, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Being an auror isn’t just about _fighting_ , Korra _._ Aurors are hailed as the most skilled witches and wizards in the wizarding world–beyond casting defensive spells. Your job is to serve the people, and service doesn’t always entail combat. You’ve always excelled at combative magic but you’ve completely neglected the utilitarian aspect of it.”

“I haven’t ignored it–it just doesn’t come as easy to me,” Korra answered defensively.

Recognizing that her lecture had absolutely no impact on the young Gryffindor, the elder witch sighed and shoved Korra’s schedule at her.

“You know,” Lin began as she stood to leave, “I don’t understand how that sweet-tempered man chose _you_ as–”

Lin immediately stopped talking, but the damage had been done.

_“You’re mine now, Chosen One.”_

“As what?” Korra demanded, leaping to her feet. “Who chose me?”

Lin’s mouth opened and closed mutely as though someone had cast a Silencing Charm on her.

“Never mind,” the House Head grumbled, recovering swiftly, but her gruffness fell short of its usual caliber. “I was talking about Tenzin. I’ll never understand that man.”

Korra wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have the chance to argue for Lin had all but fled the scene with a “I need to get ready for class.”

She frowned at the professor’s retreating backside.

If Lin wanted Korra to forget, then she had just lit a flame where the embers were fading.

For now, she decided to shelve that discourse away for her daily rendezvous with the brothers and inspect her schedule instead.

Herbology with Slytherin, Remedial Charms–alone, of course–Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration with Hufflepuff, and–

Korra read and re-read the panel several times before groaning loudly.

Not only did she have Potions with Ravenclaw, but Defense Against the Dark Arts as well–

This meant both sharing her favorite class with her least favorite person _and,_ with how the block scheduling had worked out, having to see said person _every day_.

“Fuck me,” Korra griped, throwing her schedule down in dismay.

But Korra had little time to lament (fume) over this matter, for the Great Hall was completely devoid of human activity at this point. She gathered her things in a hurry to head off to Transfiguration–

Her urgency was subdued when she caught sight of Mako waiting by the entrance. For whatever reason, he looked out of place–somehow small despite his commanding stature.

“What are you still doing here?” Korra asked when she got closer.

Mako cleared his throat. “We have to travel in pairs, remember?”

The nonchalance seemed forced, and his answer sounded more like a question.

Korra blinked. “Tu left like twenty minutes ago.”

The elder Gryffindor rubbed the back of his neck. “He had people to walk with. You don’t.”

Korra raised an eyebrow. “I can just catch up with the twins–we have almost all the same classes.”

“I’ll walk you,” Mako replied simply.

“Is your class near the courtyard, too?”

“No–Potions.”

Korra stared.

The dungeons were _not_ near the courtyard.

“That’s on the _other side_ _of the school_.”

Mako sighed, as though Korra was the most obtuse person he had the misfortune of dealing with.

Korra didn’t understand why he was insisting.

“Look, I’d feel better if–” Mako gestured lamely before looking away without finishing his sentence. “Just. C’mon. I’m not going to ask again.”

So Korra followed Mako to class.

 

* * *

 

“You look bloody awful,” Wing commented as Korra took her seat.

Having had virtually no sleep, a small breakfast, and no lunch thanks to the last-minute prefect meeting, by the afternoon, Korra’s temper was downright foul (the dungeons, as cold and dark as she remembered, did nothing to bolster her mood).

Fortunately, Potions was the last class of the day.

Unfortunately, it was _Potions._

“Thanks, I’ve been told,” Korra grumbled beside Wei.

A chalk whizzed by her ear abruptly before she could elaborate.

If Korra didn’t know better, she’d have suspected it was intentional.

“Welcome to N.E.W.T. Potions!” Hiroshi Sato boomed as the enchanted chalk scribbled away on the blackboard behind him. Whispers flooded the room at the sight of the renowned broomstick (and wand–and most magical supplies) manufacturer. “As you all know, normally you’d need at least an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ to qualify for this class,” the professor continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “but I’ve lowered the bar to allow some of our _late-bloomers_ to shine.”

Korra swore his gaze lingered on her a moment longer than others as he said this.

_Great, he doesn’t even know me yet and he thinks I’m an idiot._

“This has made our class size larger than usual–but the more the merrier! After all, not nearly enough wizards are well-versed in this crucial area of magic, and I intend on using my time here to change that. Now, enough about this old geezer’s ambitions–get your supplies out so I can go over today’s assignment.”

There was a lull in conversation as everyone bustled to retrieve their potion kits and textbooks.

“Now then–” Hiroshi’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses “–can anyone tell me what this is?”

He reached into his robes–gold-trim, obviously custom made–and withdrew a small bottle. Inside the vial danced a vivid, golden substance–quite literally danced, as it bubbled with no external stimulus; it was radiant, the liquid essence of sun, and just gazing at the potion filled Korra with unnatural giddiness.

A Ravenclaw Korra didn’t recognize raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. McNamara?”

“Felix Felicis,” the student–McNamara–answered importantly. “Liquid luck–toxic in large quantities but unusual good luck in small doses.”

Korra sat up straighter. She wasn’t the only one. The entire class was paying rapt attention now; even the academically disinclined twins shifted beside her. Murmurs of awe rippled through the class.

“Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw,” Hiroshi beamed. “Now, I figured we should start the year off with a bang–make the most boring class at Hogwarts a little exciting, no?”

The class was practically eating out of his hands at this point (Korra included).

“That is why today’s assignment shall be a competition of sorts, and whoever wins,” the professor paused to produce _another_ vial from his pocket, “shall receive a bottle of Felix Felicis as a prize.”

The dungeon erupted into excited chatter.

Korra had never particularly excelled at Potions, but she fully intended on exceeding expectations today.

“D’you hear that? Our team could use a bit of luck,” Wei whispered to the other two.

“Wei, that’s illegal,” Wing hissed back, but there was no weight to his rebuke, and neither he nor Korra could hide the hint of a grin.

“So is blowing up school property but that never stopped us,” the older twin countered with a wink.

“Now, now, class, settle down–yes, a question, Miss Albright?”

“Sir, how come you have _two_ potions?”

Hiroshi’s eyes twinkled again, like he’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Why, what an excellent question. If you’ll look behind me here,” Hiroshi rapped the blackboard with his knuckles, “you’ll see that today we’ll be making Amortentia. Now, without looking at your books, can anyone–”

McNamara’s hand shot into the air again before Hiroshi could complete his question.

“Err, yes, Mr. McNamara?”

“It’s the world’s most powerful love potion.”

“Yes–precisely.”

McNamara’s face fell when he realized Hiroshi would not be granting Ravenclaw more points–and that was when Korra recognized him–the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team Captain.

“Now, you’re probably wondering what that has to do with me having two prize vials,” Hiroshi continued. “Well, that is because I believe the best love potions are brewed in companionship, so for today you will be working in pairs to complete your assignment.”

_Fucking brilliant._

Korra glanced around the dungeon. The entire room was brimming with Ravenclaws–save for her and the twins–essentially, with strangers. It was no mystery that Gryffindors and Potions didn’t mix, but she had been hoping more would’ve opted for the class.

Wing and Wei would naturally partner with each other, and that left her alone–

“Hey,” Wing whispered. “Do you want one of us to partner with you, Korra? We know some of the blokes here.”

_Thank Merlin for Wing._

Korra flashed a relieved smile at the younger twin, but before she could reply–or even rejoice–

“To ensure maximum productivity, I have paired those of you with a lower O.W.L. score with those who have scored an ‘Outstanding.’”

Korra immediately deflated. Neither of the twins had scored an ‘Outstanding,’ and that only left the Ravenclaws.

As Hiroshi began reading names off a scroll, Korra scrutinized her classmates. Surely, most of them being Ravenclaws, she’d have a good chance at the prize? Still, there was one Ravenclaw in particular she’d been trying to avoid looking at all period–

“Mr. Beifong–” both twins looked up “—err, Wing Beifong—you will be working with Miss Chang.”

Wing waved at his partner who responded in kind.

“Wei Beifong, you’ll be with…Mr. McNamara.”

Wei groaned. “Not _that_ bloke.”

Korra recalled Wing’s earlier comment and wondered what motivated Wei’s desire to not work with McNamara specifically.

“That just leaves…” Hiroshi’s gaze lingered on the scroll floating before him, and an unreadable expression crossed his face before he locked eyes with Korra. “Miss Korra…no surname, is it?”

“Err, no sir. We identify by tribe since our community is rather small and one of the only two in the world.” Korra felt uncharacteristically bookish–and a little pretentious–with her response, but the derision in Hiroshi’s voice (evidently directed at her heritage) had struck a chord.

If anything, Hiroshi looked more amused by this information. “So, what shall I call you then, Miss Korra?”

“Just Korra is fine,” Korra replied coldly.

“Korra it is,” the professor acquiesced coolly. His eyes were glittering with sinister glee.

The classroom had gone quiet. Students’ eyes flittered cautiously between the two, but nobody dared to break the silence; the tension in the room was discernible even to a child.

Korra was impressed with herself–it had taken her less than a day to make an enemy out of a teacher.

 “Korra,” Korra was beginning to get sick of hearing her name come out of Hiroshi’s mouth–and he seemed to know it, “you will be working with Asami Sato.”

_Of course I am._

Korra wondered at the back of her mind if Hiroshi had done this intentionally–it felt a little too convenient, a little too calculated–but surely, she was being paranoid.

The classroom burst into whispers again–the scandal of a Hogwarts professor schooling his own child–

But Korra was scandalized for other reasons.

Asami, who had been sitting near the front of the class, turned to look back at Korra. She appeared to have had no problem making new friends–already surrounded by a gaggle of girls and a few ogling boys. Unlike Korra, she had clearly taken the time to make herself look presentable this morning, and like her father, she also donned custom-made robes.

Asami smiled.

Korra didn’t. 

“An hour should be plenty of time to finish a basic Amortentia. You’ll find the brewing instructions on page two-hundred of _Advanced Potion-Making._ I don’t expect a perfect potion–this is a bit beyond the scope of what’s expected from sixth years–I just want to see where everyone is at so I can assess my lesson plans. Good luck! May the best team win.”

There was immediate commotion as students rushed off in all directions.

“Lucky, you get to work with Asami,” Wei griped as he left, apparently still aggrieved by his partner assignment. “I heard she’s brilliant.”

Except the sight of brilliant Asami, beautiful hair and sparkling eyes, gliding towards Korra aroused more insecurity and resentment than gratitude.

 _Prissy,_ _beautiful, elegant rich girl–and apparently now she’s a genius to boot._

Asami set her things down beside Korra’s, but if she was waiting for a greeting, she would wait in vain.

Korra flipped through her textbook, scanning the list of ingredients quickly.

_Rose thorns, kava kava, moonstone, pearl powder, firewhisky, unicorn hair…_

Eventually recognizing Korra’s reticence, Asami sat down.

Korra remained silent. Was she supposed to grind the pearl first and then measure it or–

“Hey,” the Ravenclaw began timidly. Korra’s eyes flitted to her. “Sorry about my dad. He’s a bit of a conservative, and he can be a little…well…douchey.”

Korra stopped working. She was startled by Asami’s choice of words in regards to her father, but more so by–

“You’re American?” Korra inquired incredulously.

She realized she had never actually heard Asami speak–and now found the voice in her dream, which had been rather scratchy and low like a goblin, far from the mark. Asami’s voice was like velvet, rich and smooth without fault. Hiroshi’s accent was undeniably British–Received Pronunciation–but Asami, much like she looked, sounded as though she had walked right out of Hollywood.

Asami chuckled, and it was surprisingly warm.

“I guess you could say that. I was born here, though, actually–in London. Lived here until I was six–” Asami’s face darkened for a moment, then it was gone “—and then Dad shipped me off to boarding school in America. I went to Ilvermorny for five years before I transferred here. I guess my accent adjusted.”

Korra nodded absentmindedly.

_What had motivated her move in the first place? And then the sudden transfer–_

“What about you?” Asami asked cordially before her eyes widened. “Whoa, wait, don’t put that in yet–”

Korra, in her distraction, had thrown the pearls into the potion without grinding them first.

_Bollocks!_

The mixture in her cauldron was already scalding–the pearls would melt–

“Oh no, I’m sorry I–”

Asami waved her wand wordlessly, and the pearls–along with a few other premature ingredients–floated back out.

“–wasn’t paying attention…” Korra stared as Asami dried the pearls and began grinding them in a mortar. “Wait, did you just–?”

Students weren’t supposed to know nonverbal spells yet–let alone sixth years.

“Oh, it’s a bad habit–I never enunciate when I use spells,” Asami replied dismissively.

But Korra hadn’t seen Asami’s lips move at all.

“So, where are you from? I was really interested when you were talking about your community,” Asami continued, as though there had been no interruption. “Here, can you measure out the rose thorns while I stir?”

Korra didn’t enjoy being ordered around—especially by Asami Sato–but she managed to hold her tongue and comply. “I’m from the Southern Wizarding Tribe.”

As Korra had described, there were exactly two wizarding tribes in the entire world–the Southern and the Northern. Each represented a distinct set of values, the Northern Tribe being more conservative and the Southern Tribe, once helmed by the legendary wizard Sokka himself, being more progressive.

Korra had essentially grown up in pure magic, as the foundation of the wizarding tribes rested on a magical culture removed from the muggle world; the South and North Poles, existing in conditions too harsh for the average human, acted as perfect refuges for Inuit pureblood families. Historically, the tribes had been composed exclusively of pureblood families, but as the South Pole advanced, it saw a burgeoning number of mixed marriages and increased immigration. Now, there were even purely muggle and squib families (who relied on the enchantments provided by the rest of the community). Korra was grateful for this development, as there would hardly be a Southern Tribe without Sokka and Katara, both hailing from a muggle family.

“I knew you weren’t from here!” Asami exclaimed as she waved her wand over the cauldron.

The pallid liquid transformed into a dazzling array of colors–silvers, pinks, blues blending together. It reminded Korra of the inside of a shell–just like the textbook said it should.

 _Of course. Textbook perfect,_ Korra thought bitterly, seized with envy once again. She tried to focus on the fact that Asami winning would also entail her winning.

Then, she frowned. “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Asami raised her hands apologetically.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…” Asami wrung her hands together coyly. She lowered her eyes, and Korra could see how long her eyelashes were. “You don’t sound completely British–you have a really pretty accent,” Asami murmured demurely, looking up at Korra from under her eyelashes.

Asami’s eyes weren’t celadon, Korra realized–they were darker, a vibrant emerald.

She was dazed for a moment before she regained her senses.

_A real crowd pleaser, isn’t she?_

“T-thanks,” Korra stammered (more affected than she would like to admit). “I grew up in the South Pole and English isn’t my first language, so–”

“Careful,” Asami chided gently, grabbing Korra’s wrist.

Again, distracted, Korra had nearly ruined the potion altogether by trying to add the moonstone too early.

Korra glanced at Asami, really looking at her for the first time since they had met. Despite the Ravenclaw’s lively attitude, she looked tired–dark circles sat below her eyes, and Korra realized that Asami may not have slept as well as she’d originally believed. Asami held Korra’s wrist a beat longer than necessary, and Korra was close enough that she could smell Asami’s perfume—or perhaps that was her natural scent (just Korra’s luck)–it reminded her of a waterfall, of jasmine–subtle, refreshing, and sweet all at once.

Korra wondered if Asami could smell her too, and balked at the thought, knowing she hadn’t showered since yesterday.  

_I can never measure up to her, can I?_

“Sorry,” she apologized again.

“We have to leave it alone for thirty minutes first,” Asami reminded Korra as she released her hand.

The instructions had initially sent a wave of panic through Korra–that meant they had to rely completely on making the right brew the first time–but now the prospect of spending thirty minutes uninterrupted with Asami seemed like the more daunting task.

Korra could only hope that the number of times Asami had corrected her and the Ravenclaw’s alleged “brilliance” would produce the necessary results.

“You’ll know you’ve hit the mark when your potion gets a mother-of-pearl sheen to it. I can’t say exactly what it’ll smell like–it should be different for each of you–but it should remind you of things you love–whatever—or _whomever_ –attracts you!” Hiroshi called over his shoulder from across the dungeon.

Meanwhile, his attention was elsewhere (apparently McNamara and Wei had gotten into a bit of a dispute–which had ended in complete disaster).

The silence between Korra and Asami was interrupted far too early for Korra’s liking.

“I’m glad I finally get to spend some time with you,” Asami piped up. Korra was eerily reminded of her dream. “Mako told me so much about you!”

Korra’s eyes narrowed.

“Really? Because he hasn’t mentioned you _at all_.”

It wasn’t untrue–Mako really hadn’t talked about Asami.

Of course, this didn’t have the intended effect.

Asami laughed. “Well, I’m not surprised–we’ve only known each other for a day. He did say we should all hang out sometime, though.”

“Err, don’t think I’ll have the time,” Korra deflected. “There’s a lot going on now–y’know, with what happened last night and all–I have prefect duty almost all the time and I still have to study.”

 _Not all of us are natural geniuses,_ she added mentally.

Asami looked crestfallen.

“Oh, y-yeah…that’s true…”

Korra almost felt bad. Then she remembered–

“Err, did you talk to your dad this morning?”

Clearly, that wasn’t the question Asami had been expecting.

“ _What?_ ”

Korra noted her reaction with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, you don’t have to go to classes today, right? So…did you decide to stay?”

_Please say no._

Realization dawned on Asami and, to Korra’s dismay, she nodded. “Oh, that. Yeah, I did. I mean, it would be kind of weird to go home without Dad–and he just got this job, so he can’t exactly leave, either.”

“Right,” Korra agreed dismally. “That would be weird.”

_Not that weird._

“Twenty minutes left,” Hiroshi bellowed from the back of the class.

Those who hadn’t finished their mixture yet began working with renewed haste. Panic emanated off the students in tidal waves; for once, Korra was grateful that Asami was her partner as they waited peacefully.

“Things are definitely getting pretty messy with the Equalists, though,” Asami added conversationally.

_I guess talking about that is better than talking about Mako–or worse, hanging out._

“There’s always some sort of war in the wizarding world, isn’t there? First that mess with the Hundred Year War, and then Yakone–makes me kind of embarrassed to be a pureblood, y’know?” Korra replied earnestly.

Again, it seemed that was not what Asami had been expecting to hear.

“What?”

Korra shrugged. “It’s stupid. All this conflict over magical blood—who cares? We’re all wizards, aren’t we?”

Asami looked speechless. After a few moments, she blinked rapidly. “Are you…being honest?”

Korra blinked in response. “Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Asami didn’t budge. “You know, you don’t have to say that just to protect my feelings.”

“I’m not.”

Asami studied Korra intently before lowering her eyes. “I, uh–I guess I didn’t expect you to have such views.”

Korra winced. “How come? Because I’m a pureblood?”

Korra didn’t think it was possible for Asami to look ashamed–or have anything worth being ashamed about–but there was no doubting the sheepish edge to her smile.

“I guess,” Asami admitted, looking at Korra remorsefully. “I’m sorry.”

It was an odd picture–pretty, elegant Asami looking small. It reminded Korra of Mako this morning, and she found it difficult to remain antagonistic towards someone readily making herself vulnerable.

Korra waved dismissively.

“Things have been pretty rough for muggle-borns, and our lot hasn’t exactly made it easy on you. But Aang stopped the Dark Lord and Yakone–and he was a pure-blood. We’re not all bad.” Korra smiled at Asami gently. “You don’t deserve everything that’s happened to you. I…I can’t say I blame the Equalists for being upset, but…” Korra shivered as she recalled the sensation from her nightmare. Gripping the edge of her stool for support, she pressed on shakily, “Taking away someone’s magic…that’s like taking away a part of them. That…that can’t be right.”

Asami gazed at Korra sadly. “I don’t think it’s right, either.” She looked away. “But…equality for muggle-borns seems really far.”

“It’s stupid,” Korra repeated, frowning. “Muggle-borns have provided some of the biggest contributions to wizardry. Chief Sokka was the best manufacturer before your dad’s time–he invented sporting broomsticks for Merlin’s sake! And my mentor, Katara–she’s the best healer in the world. Hell–she’s the best witch I know, and she’s a muggle-born!”

This seemed to reassure Asami, who offered Korra a genuine smile.

“I wish more people thought like you,” she said softly.

“Me too. I still have to tell some Slytherins off for using slurs–it’s ridiculous.” Korra rolled her eyes. “Like I said, makes me embarrassed. Honestly, I wish I had more muggle-born friends.”  

Asami said nothing.

She was looking at Korra like she was seeing her for the first time.

Smoke began to waft up from their potion, spiraling around Korra and Asami. It was as the textbook had described–characteristic spirals, slow and lazy, intertwining like helixes around the pair. Amortentian vapor filled Korra’s lungs, and she felt oddly content; Asami looked so pretty in the dim lighting.

The fumes were intoxicating, and her entire body was flooded with calm that was almost alien after everything that had happened. Korra grinned at Asami idly.

Asami chuckled, looking somewhat timid. “G-guess I’d better add the last ingredient.”

Their potion was starting to give off a rather seductive aroma.

Asami stole a glance at Korra as she prepared the moonstone.

“Maybe…we could be friends?”

Korra almost said yes.

“And…your time is up!” Hiroshi declared just as Asami slipped the moonstone into Korra’s cauldron.

Several bangs reverberated throughout the dungeon as others did the same, simultaneous with cries of woe from those who hadn’t finished their potion in time. The commotion jogged Korra from her inebriated state, and she returned her attention to her own cauldron.

After an earsplitting crack, a thin film materialized over the potion before it evaporated, leaving a distinct mother-of-pearl sheen in its wake.

Korra couldn’t believe her eyes.

_Maybe we have a shot at this, after all._

As Hiroshi made his rounds, Korra debated what to say to Asami.

Would a ‘thank you’ suffice? (Hiroshi made a noise of disgust at Wei and McNamara’s potion.) ‘Sorry you had to clean up after me’? (Wing and Chang had received a nod–which, no doubt, was owing to Chang.) No, that was giving her too much power. (A few more headshakes, a single nod.) Still, regardless of whether they actually won, it was owing to Asami–

“My, my, what have we here?”

Hiroshi was practically oozing with pride. And honestly, Korra couldn’t blame him. Nepotism aside, one glance around the classroom confirmed that their potion was the only one that came close to what the textbook described.

“Well…it appears we have a clear winner.” Though nobody could exactly object–what with all the unsettling colors and nauseating aromas coming from the other cauldrons–there was a distinct sense of discontentment pervading the room. “However,” Hiroshi’s eyes gleamed knowingly as he gazed at his daughter, who could only smile self-consciously, “since it would be unprofessional of me to favor my daughter, I suppose I’ll have to–” _oh Merlin, please don’t give it to someone else_ “–reward a _sole_ winner.”

Hiroshi’s business savvy was showing–the room immediately brightened. The professor beamed down at Korra, who didn’t know whether to feel pleased or uneasy; she leaned towards the latter as, as always, Hiroshi’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“It appears you’ve earned this, Miss Korra.”

Korra couldn’t help but notice the taunting edge to Hiroshi’s voice. 

“Thank you, sir.”

A slight chill passed over Korra as she accepted the vial from Hiroshi, and it was not, oddly enough, unfamiliar.

“Now, we have a few minutes left, but I’ll let you head out early–I know you’ve all had a long day.” A collective cheer went up around the class. “No homework this week,” the delight in the room intensified, “so just make sure you clean up before you leave. Feel free to come by my office if you have any questions. Also–I encourage you all to study Miss Korra and Miss Sato’s potion before you leave. Take notes, that’s how it’s done,” Hiroshi added before departing with one last smile for his daughter.

Korra admired the bottle of Felix Felicis as the students gradually approached their work station. The potion was effervescent, glittering, golden–just holding it made Korra feel lucky.

“Great job, mate! Didn’t know you had it in you!” Wing commended her with a clap on the shoulder.

“I’m jealous,” was all Wei spouted, too busy cleaning pearl powder off himself.

“Thanks, guys,” Korra grinned, but the smile was half-hearted.

It was the first time she’d ever been the recipient of any sort of acknowledgment in Potions–let alone praise. She shot a guilty look at Asami, who was answering questions; it certainly hadn’t been of her own merit.

“Hey, uh, can I borrow her?” Korra interrupted McNamara, who glowered at her before storming off.

Asami glanced at Korra curiously.

“Asami.” It was the first time Korra had actually said her name, and Asami, well aware of this, looked shocked. Korra held the bottle out to her. “Do you want this? You earned it.”

Asami eyed the vial.

“You’re just giving it _away_?” Wei gaped. “Can I have it?”

“Oh, shut up–get lost, you two,” Korra reproved, smacking Wei’s rear with her textbook. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“She hit me!” Wei protested as Wing dragged his brother away.

Korra glared at them until she heard a giggle.

Asami was clearly entertained. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and shook her head. “It’s fine, Korra. You helped too.”

Korra’s eyebrows knitted together. “Not really–you pretty much had to stop me from sabotaging the whole thing on multiple occasions.”

The dungeon was nearly empty at this point–a few unlucky Ravenclaws were still cleaning their stations.

Asami grinned. “Well, I won’t deny that. But I’m good, I promise–Dad gives me a bottle like every Christmas. Enjoy yours.”

Korra hesitated, thumbing the bottle. “Are you sure?”

Asami beamed. “Positive.”

Her answer echoed throughout the dungeon–which was now completely vacated. Korra was developing a nasty (and probably dangerous) habit of being the last one to leave.

“Shoot–we’d better get going. We’re going to be late for evening roll call,” Korra commented, leaping off her stool. “Oh, and thanks.”  

Korra hadn’t realized what she’d implied until–

“’We’?”

Asami was looking at her in bewilderment.

Civil conversation or not, Korra hadn’t exactly given the impression of being fond of Asami, and it didn’t take a genius to notice.  

Whether it was the high of the Amortentia or the unexpected delight of Asami’s company, Korra found herself unable to revoke the statement.

She nodded.

_It was just a dream._

“Yeah. Walk with me?”

The smile Korra got in response was incandescent.

As they packed away their things, Korra noticed her cauldron was still full.

“Wait, your dad just left our Amortentia here–what are we supposed to do with it? I need my cauldron.”  

Asami glanced at the concoction, which was still steaming. “I think he went upstairs to get something to store it in. Just leave it here for now. I’ll make sure it gets back to you by tonight.”

Korra hesitated, but her stomach was growling, and she still had to make her rounds tonight. “Okay,” she agreed uncertainly. “Well, then, ready to go?”

But Asami was still gazing at the Amortentia.

“You know, my dad isn’t actually the Potions Master of our family…it was my mom,” the Ravenclaw murmured. Korra noted the “was,” and her heart sank. “She was the one who got me into Potions. I…She always made jokes about Amortentia–like that was how she won over boys in school and stuff–but she also warned me that it was really dangerous–like ‘one of the world’s most deadly weapons’ dangerous. It was her favorite potion.”

Asami seemed to be talking more to herself than Korra at this point.

The Gryffindor didn’t know what to say.

“Your mom sounds like a really cool witch,” Korra said lamely, after some thought.

“She was,” Asami agreed. Her eyes never left the potion. “Do you…do you think it really smells different for everyone?”

Korra cocked her head. “I don’t know. I mean, there’s only one way to find out, right?”

Before Asami could prompt her, Korra leaned towards the cauldron and inhaled deeply. Again, intense contentment washed over her, and Korra felt more tranquil than she’d ever known. The Amortentia, despite its obvious drawbacks, was starting to become addictive.

“It smells like…”

It smelled like London–like bustling metropolitan life–like the open Antarctic tundra–like adventure, if that could be quantified as such–and a sharp, distinct scent Korra knew too well. She had only experienced it a handful of times, but each was memorable–falling down while playing tag in Tenzin’s backyard, bumping into each other on broomsticks during Quidditch practice, embracing when England had won the Quidditch World Cup, being drawn close last night–

_Mako._

“…London–or, like any big city, I suppose–the tundra back home, and–and–uh…err…like a…crush?” Korra finished awkwardly.

Asami only gave her a knowing smile.

“It really does smell different to everyone, then,” the taller girl mused, glancing back at the potion.

“Really? What does it smell like for you?” Korra probed curiously.

Asami leaned towards the cauldron and mimicked Korra.

She closed her eyes in concentration.

“It smells like fresh parchment…kind of earthy, like the brewery at home–and something else…” Asami frowned, trying to place the scent. Her eyes were still closed. “It’s something sweet and smooth–like….” Asami’s eyes fluttered open. “Like–” she caught Korra’s eye, and something dawned on her, before she looked away hastily “–like c-cologne,” Asami stuttered, suddenly very pink in the face.

Korra couldn’t help but feel that Asami hadn’t been entirely truthful.


	3. The Patronus Charm

Bolin didn’t even attempt to hide his shock.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Asami Sato?”

Korra eyed the figure now fading into the crowd.

Despite their unexpectedly pleasant conversation in the dungeons, the walk to the Great Hall had been somewhat tense; there was something inexplicable and unsettling between them, and for once, it wasn’t Korra’s jealousy. It was something in Asami’s stride, something in her expression–something odd and forced and entirely unfathomable.

“I wouldn’t call us friends,” Korra replied carefully, still watching Asami. They had parted with strained smiles, and the latter was now sitting amongst her peers at the Ravenclaw table–unsurprisingly, the center of attention. “We had to work together on something in Potions so we walked back together. Traveling in partners and all that.”

“Huh.” Then, Bolin’s eyes brightened. “Hey, should we invite her to eat with us?”

Although sitting at other House tables–like visiting other House Common Rooms–was forbidden, with Suyin’s backing, Bolin had been temporarily allowed to join Mako and Korra at the Gryffindor table for dinner (“Family need not be separated during such dark times,” Suyin had insisted). Of course, the exception was only owing to the brothers being orphans. This arrangement acted as a substitute for their usual one (given current security protocol); it had become something of a daily tradition for the brothers and Korra to meet on the Quidditch field in the evenings before supper to gossip about their day.   

“No way,” Korra snarled.

She was horrified at the prospect of Asami spending any more intimate time with Mako.

Catching sight of Bolin’s puzzled expression, Korra hastily amended her rebuttal.

“I-I mean, with how tense things are, I don’t think it’s a good idea to bend more rules. Plus, I need to talk to you two about something serious. Maybe another time,” she added half-heartedly.

Bolin paled. “Something serious? Is it—is it _scary_?”

Korra deadpanned.

A very potent reminder as to why he hadn’t been Sorted into Gryffindor along with his brother.

Then again, considering everything that had transpired in the last forty-eight hours, Korra couldn’t deny that she identified with the emotion (if only a little).

“It is, but I really need someone to talk to about it,” Korra urged gently, appealing to the Hufflepuff in Bolin.

He didn’t disappoint.

“Of course, mate! Go on, then–as the Americans say: Lay it on me!”

Korra hesitated.

Should she wait until Mako joined them? Perhaps her theory would be easier to broach if Bolin was already up to speed (although Mako didn’t exactly harbor a strong sense of respect for his younger sibling).

But Mako would probably be ensnared in Head Boy duties through the evening, and there was a chance that he wouldn’t join them at all until the nightly prefect meeting.

“Well…”

It was a struggle to find the courage to recount her dream once more, but Bolin was the perfect audience, reacting appropriately at all the right parts. The Hufflepuff listened with rapt attention; his eyes were wide with unmistakable interest that prevented Korra from feeling irrelevant.

“I think Mako’s right,” Bolin said once Korra finished, “it _might_ be an omen, but it could also just be a nightmare. Scary stuff going on right now.” He leaned forward and put his hand over Korra’s. “It’s okay to be afraid, Korra.”

Korra was startled by her dichotomous reaction to this statement; she was simultaneously comforted and vexed that Bolin dared to accuse her of harboring such an un-Gryffindorish sentiment.

“I’m not!” she snapped, snatching her hand away.  

But Korra didn’t possess the capacity to stay angry at Bolin, especially not when he was trying to console _her_ , so she suppressed the emotion forcefully and pressed on.

“S-sorry. Anyway, that’s what I thought too—except when Lin was assigning me my schedule this morning, she said someone _chose_ me.”

Bolin’s jaw dropped.

“What? No way! Who?” he demanded eagerly.

Korra shook her head.

“Dunno. Lin looked like she wasn’t supposed to tell me that–and then she ran off before I could ask her. She said Tenzin,” she added as an afterthought, “but I think she was just covering for herself. That _has_ to mean something, though–it can’t just be a coincidence.”

“Oh, man! This is juicy news! I can’t wait to see what Mako thinks.” Bolin rubbed his hands together in relish, previous sentiments all but forgotten.

Korra rolled her eyes.

_So much for being afraid._

“But seriously,” Korra continued, voice dropping to just above a whisper, “have you ever heard anything about a ‘Chosen One’? Anything at all?”

Bolin wagged his head. “Nope. I thought you might’ve, since you guys have those tribal stories and stuff?”

Korra couldn’t hide her disappointment. “No, none of our stories mention anything like that. The Wizarding Tribes are pretty sheltered from everything that happens in the rest of the world, so I thought maybe you’d have heard something…”

The Hufflepuff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Y’know, I’m not sure…there might be something like a prophecy? We studied that in Divination a few years ago, but I can’t remember for the life of me.”

Korra sighed forlornly. All their ridicule of the subject seemed to be coming back to haunt them in the worst way possible.

“Mako dropped N.E.W.T. Divination this year, but maybe he’ll remember?” Bolin suggested hopefully.

“Well, he did say he’d look into it. We can ask him when he gets here.”

There was a lull in conversation as house-elves shuffled into the Great Hall with the evening mail (presumably after it had been inspected for dark magic). Korra had never seen the house-elves outside of the kitchens (which, admittedly, she’d broken into _once_ with Wing and Wei in their second year), but she was more alarmed by how many there were. There seemed to be a massive influx of correspondence (no doubt, owing to the _Daily Prophet_ ’s coverage of the prior night’s events), but for all the mail, there seemed to be a deficit of recipients–

It was only then that Korra noticed–several students were missing.

“Blimey,” she breathed, glancing around the prominently emptier hall. “The muggle-borns really did go home, didn’t they?”

There was a marked number of students absent from almost every table. None from Slytherin, two from Gryffindor, twenty from Ravenclaw, thirty-two from Hufflepuff…

Korra counted and recounted–partly out of responsibility and partly because she couldn’t believe it.

“Don’t blame ‘em,” Bolin replied, waving the most recent copy of the _Evening_ _Prophet_. “Seriously–power of the press. They make it sound like hell broke loose.”

Though Korra agreed that journalism in the wizarding world was often overly theatrical and capitalized on people’s malleable opinions, for once, that was an apt description of what had occurred. It was the second _Evening Prophet_ published in a row–which hadn’t happened since the Hundred Year War–and evidently the news had reached all corners of the country (perhaps even the continent) judging by the amount of mail.

It appeared homes in the United Kingdom weren’t the only ones that had been reached.

“Master Korra?”

A jittery house-elf approached the Gryffindor table, holding out an envelope.

Wiggles was a house-elf suffering from chorea (and thus, named accordingly); she was smaller than most house-elves, making her ailment more pronounced. Korra had saved Wiggles from being bullied by Tahno and some other Slytherins in her fourth year, which had resulted in the house-elf developing an excessively reverent attitude towards her.

“Oh, err, thanks, Wiggles.” Korra accepted the envelope. She turned it over, astonished to find that it was, in fact, from home as she’d suspected. “How are you?” she asked absentmindedly.

“Wiggles is good now that she’s talking to Master Korra!” the house-elf chirped happily. Her eyes, too big for her head (like her ears), were even wider than usual, shining with admiration. “But Wiggles is scared for Master Korra–Master Korra is a pureblood, yes?”

Korra didn’t need the reminder.

“Don’t worry, Wiggles. I’ll be okay. You should carry on–you have a lot to deliver,” she deflected, nodding at the stack of envelopes tucked under the house-elf’s arm.

“Of course! Wiggles will leave Master Korra to read her letter!”

Korra rolled her eyes when Bolin mouthed ‘Master Korra’ at her as Wiggles bustled off.

“Shut up. I mean–whatever, never mind. Anyway,” Korra redirected her attention to the envelope (already opened, as per security measures), “how on earth did this get here so fast? Mail to and from the South Pole usually takes forever–even by magical standards.”

Bolin, who had busied himself with dinner (which had just appeared), reached over and tapped the (broken) seal. Unlike the usual Southern Wizarding Tribe seals–which were cerulean–it was ebony.

“’S an emergecy sheal,” he explained through a mouth full of food. “Udd globally fo’ ugent newsh. Vey fast.”

Korra winced. “Thanks. I think.”

She withdrew the contents of the envelope–a letter from Tonraq, she realized, recognizing his messy handwriting. It was printed on tiger-seal parchment (as the South Pole had no other livestock to produce stationery from), which was a little darker and grayer than normal parchment.

_Dear Korra,_

_We heard about what happened at Hogwarts–and in Azkaban–with Amon. The entire tribe is concerned, especially your mother and I._

_We have discussed options with your professors, and although you’re not a muggle-born, they have agreed to let you come home if you wish (you may return to Hogwarts once things have settled–or next year). I’d feel better if you consider this option seriously. Please write back to me with your answer. Stay safe._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Korra immediately frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Bolin asked, swallowing before speaking for once.

Korra brandished the letter in his face before throwing it down with a frustrated sigh.

“My parents want me to come home.” Korra groaned. “My dad–seriously–he always thinks he knows what’s best for me.”

To her surprise, Bolin grew solemn. “I can see where they’re coming from.”

That was _not_ the reassurance Korra had been seeking.

“No–of course not! I can’t just _leave_ ,” Korra protested, gesticulating wildly to make her point as Bolin had clearly missed it the first time. “I’m not going back to that stuffy little compound.”

Bolin pursed his lips. Wordlessly, he served Korra a helping of rice, curry, and bison steak (her favorite). Korra watched him in bemusement, disconcerted by his silence and even more so by his (highly) uncharacteristic graveness. In other circumstances, she’d have assumed he was trying to subdue her with her favorite food; this felt more like preparation for a lecture.

Pushing Korra’s plate back towards her, the fifth year sighed.

“Look, I’m just saying it’s scary right now, and it makes sense for parents who are on the other side of the world to worry about their daughter,” Bolin said quietly. He lowered his eyes. “Anything can happen at any time, and…it’s hard.” His jaw clenched. “Being without each other.”

He didn’t have to say more.

It was no secret that Mako and Bolin’s parents had been murdered during a brutal mugging when they were young–half of Hogwarts knew, and the other half suspected as much.

Korra immediately softened–and grimaced, wishing she could retract her initial response.

“I’m sorry.”

Bolin’s eyes remained on the floor.

Korra reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He glanced at her morosely.

“That’s exactly why I can’t leave,” Korra explained. “The other half of my family is here. I can’t abandon them.”

This finally seemed to crack Bolin’s defenses. The younger student looked up at her in surprise, eyes shining with ineffable emotion.

Korra smiled at the boy who had become something of a younger brother to her. Bolin smiled back.

They resumed dinner, and Korra, who had been starving since the morning, ate ferociously. She was well into her third helping when Tu took a seat across from them.

“Hey, cuz,” Tu greeted, nodding at Bolin, “Korra.”

Tu was the brothers’ only relative at Hogwarts, and one of their only living relatives. They’d only come to know of him when Mako and Bolin tried to pickpocket him at King’s Cross station four years ago–to be caught by Tu’s father, who had immediately identified them as San’s children. Unfortunately, Tu’s family was far too destitute to adopt Mako and Bolin; nevertheless, they had taken to sending supplies to the wizard orphanage the brothers lived in whenever they could. The cousins–particularly Mako and Tu, being the same age–had been inseparable since.

Which was why it was particularly off-putting to see Tu without Mako.

“Where’s Mako?” Bolin inquired, asking the question Korra’s mouth was too full to verbalize.

“Well, we were walking back from class together, but then that Sato girl waved him over so he ditched me without a second glance,” Tu answered, piling his own plate with the same gusto that Bolin did. “So much for family first.”

“Ah, whatever. We don’t need him, right Korra?” Bolin grinned, nudging Korra.

But she was no longer paying attention.

As Tu had described, Mako was down by the Ravenclaw table. He was sitting backwards, leaning against the table, resting his temple on his hand, listening to Asami talk about _whatever._ The Ravenclaws around them were engrossed by Asami’s tale as well. Then Mako said something–making Asami giggle and smack him playfully. Asami’s minions shivered with giggles and whispers, cooing, cawing–

Suddenly, Asami caught sight of Korra, and waved enthusiastically.

Korra’s appetite, which had been voracious moments ago, vanished completely.

Mako noticed, he was starting to turn in his seat–

“I’m going to go get ready for evening roll call,” Korra muttered, standing abruptly.

Tu and Bolin looked at her in surprise.

“But you haven’t even finished your–”

“You can have it,” Korra cut off Bolin. “Tell Asami to bring my cauldron to the teachers’ quarters.”

With that, she stormed off, mind on anything but roll call.

 

* * *

 

To her dismay, despite incurable exhaustion, Korra failed to sleep well once again.

She had gone to bed irritable, but that had only been one prong of her insomnia; the other, of course, was the unrelenting grip of her nightmares.

_Do wizards have therapy?_

(Of course, Korra wouldn’t have even known that existed herself if she hadn’t taken three years of Muggle Studies.)

Korra wasn’t an active participant in her dream this time, but the horror was even worse than if she’d been in it–she’d seen Lin get her magic taken away.

It’d been hazy, raining–they seemed to be somewhere remote, near the sea (Ireland? Wales?); Lin was bound, kneeling in front of Amon on a plateau of some sort. A gaggle of Equalists–robed in their skintight jumpsuits and masks reminiscent of mosquitos–served as spectators to the atrocity.

_"Tell me where the Chosen One is, and I’ll let you keep your magic.”_

_Lin gazed up at Amon defiantly._

_"I won’t tell you anything, you monster.”_

_A pause–Korra couldn’t tell if Amon was scowling or smirking under his mask._

_"Very well.”_

_Amon approached Lin, hand extended–_

_But Lin gazed ahead, strong, the personification of Gryffindor, valiant until the end; she bowed her head, resigned to her fate with honor._

_Amon’s thumb made contact with Lin’s forehead, and then nothing–_

Korra shivered.

Once again, the dream hadn’t felt like a dream–it had felt too real, too tangible, as though if Korra reached out, she could’ve touched Amon’s mask herself.

It had to have been sometime early in the morning, for Suyin was now patrolling the room.

Korra sat up and huddled her knees to her chest.

She sat like that for a long time before deciding that sleep was beyond her. With Suyin’s permission, she headed down with another prefect (a seventh year Hufflepuff she was unfamiliar with) to send her reply to Tonraq.

_Dad,_

_Thanks for the letter. It means a lot_ _to hear from you and know that everyone cares so much about me._

_I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to stay at Hogwarts–I can’t abandon my friends and there’s a lot I want to accomplish this year. I promise I’ll stay safe and keep you posted._

_Love,_

_Korra_

_P.S. There is something I want to talk to you about, though. Let me know when you have time to Floo.  _

Korra had spent the better part of the morning trying to think of something reasonable to say that wouldn’t hurt her parents’ feelings–or worse, come off impulsive and brash, and then cause her to be forcibly sent home. Moreover, she had to rewrite the letter once she had drafted a sensible reply because she had very insensibly mentioned her query about the ‘Chosen One’ matter before remembering that type of information was too dangerous to send in a letter traveling across the world (the probability of interception was infinite).

The morning had crept into breakfast hours by the time she’d finished.

The Great Hall was mostly empty, save for a few early risers. Even the High Table was only half-occupied–by the morning shift patrollers, as the night shift patrollers (such as Lin) were most likely catching up on sorely needed sleep. Nevertheless, those present were engaged in grim discussion.

Korra scarcely felt hungry, but she forced herself to eat. She wouldn’t have time to eat again until dinner.

She scarfed her breakfast down quickly to avoid running into Bolin or Tu–or worst of all, Mako–after her display last night. Korra had nearly managed to escape the Great Hall when–

“Korra?”

Korra flinched at the sound of her name. However, the voice, although not unfamiliar, fortunately didn’t belong to anyone she was trying to avoid.

Tenzin’s eldest approached with a poised eyebrow.

“What are you doing up? Don’t you hate the morning?”

Having lived with Korra for the past six years, Jinora would know.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Korra confessed, slowing down so the younger girl could fall in step with her.

Jinora was about two heads shorter than Korra, but there was still something reassuring in the way that she held Korra’s hand briefly to give it a squeeze.

“Insomnia is a perfectly normal response to stress,” Jinora said comfortingly. “I think a lot of students–actually, even the professors–are probably going through that right now.”

That was–the most reassuring thing Korra had heard since Amon’s series of attacks had begun–and it had come from a thirteen-year-old. It was exactly what she needed to hear; she was sick of being alienated as the only one with issues, sick of being accused of being _afraid_ , like a child being consoled about something entirely mundane–a fear magnified by guileless imagination but unknowable to the seasoned adults.  

_I’m not alone. What I’m going through is normal. I’m okay. It’s okay._

Korra smiled down at the young Ravenclaw.

“Thanks, Jinora. You always know what to say.”

Jinora beamed back. “I’m always here if you need to talk, Korra.”

Korra ruminated on this as they continued through the corridor in amicable silence. She wasn’t particularly sure where they were heading–it was too early to go to class–but the walk (and the company) was pleasant. If there was anyone besides Mako that could tell her something she needed to know, it would be Jinora.

But, Korra deliberated, glancing at the young girl beside her, was she placing too much faith in a child? Would the weight of such knowledge cause her to crumble?  

Jinora caught her looking and raised an eyebrow.

“Something on your mind?”

Unlike her younger siblings, Jinora’s eye color didn’t match either of her parents’. In the place of steel blue or light gray was a delicate amber, radiating with wisdom beyond her years; her eyes were so clear, pristine, like the surface of a lake, and Korra guessed the depth to Jinora, despite her unassuming demeanor, was as such. Looking into Jinora’s eyes, Korra was vaguely reminded of someone–but that felt a lifetime away.

“What do you know about Divination?” Korra began uncertainly.

“Well, I only just had my first class yesterday, but as you know, I started studying long before I came to Hogwarts. Having the Divination Professor as your aunt helps, too,” Jinora added wryly with a grin. “How come?”

Korra hesitated.

Jinora would be the third person she had told about this–and was there even a ‘this’? Perhaps Korra was just experiencing some kind of psychological response to stress like Jinora had suggested and it would pass.

But–there was too much aligning too perfectly for it to just be nothing.

“Not here,” Korra muttered as more students began to pour into the corridor.

But ‘not here’ proved to be a difficult destination, as the moment they set foot beyond the courtyard, they were ushered back into the castle by aurors. Disgruntled, Korra had to settle for just outside of Jinora’s first class (Ancient Runes).

This proved to be an unideal setting, given how often Korra had to lower her volume, glance conspicuously over her shoulder, or change the subject entirely. After what felt like an eternity, she caught Jinora up on everything–and, for once, without omission of any details.

Despite what Korra had expected, recounting her dreams grew easier with each recital, and she found that discussing them (rather than avoiding them) was therapeutic in and of itself. And Jinora–Jinora handled the subject with remarkable maturity, revealing not even a shred of weakness.

Once Korra had finished, she bit her lip, eyeing Jinora nervously.

Jinora was frowning, as though deeply contemplating the matter.

Finally, just when Korra feared Jinora was going to dismiss her concerns as ‘anxiety’ or some other muggle ailment, the Ravenclaw spoke.

“I hate to say this–I really hate to say this–but those sound like omens to me.”

Although that was what Korra had been hoping to hear–that these instances weren’t unfounded–it was neither what she expected nor wanted true.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Jinora hadn’t noticed, still pondering.

“There’s also a chance that it could be Legilimency–” her face darkened considerably at this prospect “—or both. I really hope it’s neither, though.”

Korra could barely find her voice to speak.

“W-what’s Legilimency?”

Jinora opened her mouth to answer–

“If you aren’t inside in the next ten seconds, I’m taking ten points from Ravenclaw,” a stern voice barked from behind them.

Both girls jumped.

In the intensity of their discussion, time had escaped them–Jinora’s class was completely full, and her professor, a stout half-goblin, was glaring at them from the doorway.

“Sorry Korra, I have to go–but talk to my dad about this–I think it’s really important,” Jinora apologized before running off.

“Okay,” Korra called after her reluctantly.

Informing Tenzin about her dreams (visions?) sounded like the worst possible course of action. He would be worried–he would lecture her–he would tell _Tonraq_ –

Korra made a mental note to visit Kya when she had time, instead–and then realized that she, too, was tardy.

_Even when I’m early, I’m late._

Korra was severely out of breath by the time she arrived in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom (which was, regrettably, on the third floor). She stepped over the threshold–only to be yanked back out by the scruff of her robes.

“Wait,” a raspy voice ordered, “I need to talk to you.”

Rubbing her throat irritably, Korra gazed up at the speaker. Her discontentment was immediately forgotten when she saw Lin scowling down at her, eyebrows knitted together in deliberation.

“Lin!” Korra cried in relief.

Lin looked dumbfounded before her face twisted in displeasure.

“That’s Professor Beifong to you,” she snapped. “Call me that again and I’m taking ten points from Gryffindor–are you crying?”

Korra was startled herself to find that her eyes were watering. Although she knew the nightmare had no bearing on reality, Korra was seized with emotion upon seeing Lin–standing strong with her usual grimace, positively radiating with magical aura. Korra’s affection for Lin Beifong welled up inside her, and she threw herself at the professor.

“W-what are you doing? Get off,” Lin objected, trying to squirm out of Korra’s embrace. “Ten points from Gryffindor!”

At that, Korra finally released Lin, but she was still grinning. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“The feeling isn’t reciprocated,” Lin rejoindered, smoothening her robes. She eyed Korra cautiously, as though she might spontaneously charge at her again. “Well, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, like I said, I need to talk to you.”

Korra’s relief was short-lived; her stomach churned at the grave note in Lin’s voice.

“Err, yes?”

Lin grabbed the Gryffindor by the arm and pulled her close. “Listen, I want you to keep an eye on Sato. Show her the ropes–she’s new, and she’s probably having a hard time adjusting.”

Korra reflected on all the unnecessary attention Asami attracted at all times and thought differently.

She groaned. “Ugh, why _me_?”

“Because–and you better not try to hug me again–you’re my best student, and I trust you,” Lin replied.

Korra’s heart swelled, but then she noticed Lin looked far too grim for the request she was making.

“This…you’re not actually asking me to keep an eye on her because she’s new, are you?” Korra asked warily.

“No, I’m not,” Lin agreed.

But she didn’t elaborate, and she released Korra and entered the classroom without another word.

Korra’s mind was reeling–far too much had happened this morning–but she had no time to organize her thoughts. She trailed after Lin in a daze.

Korra had no sooner entered the room than Asami’s face lit up.

“Korra!”

Everyone’s heads snapped to Korra, who turned bright pink. Everyone meant _everyone_ –Korra was the very last student to arrive, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of the most popular subjects at Hogwarts. Eska and Desna, who’d opted out of Potions, were sitting at the center of the classroom, regarding their cousin with raised eyebrows; it was the most emotion Korra had seen them express in a while. Wing and Wei smirked identically at her.

“Hey…Asami…” Korra greeted weakly from the doorway.

Just as Korra was about to make a beeline for the (Beifong) twins, Asami waved cheerfully at her before removing her bookbag from the seat beside her.

“I saved you a seat!”

_Of course, she did._

“Great,” Korra mumbled.

With everyone watching her curiously, Korra had no choice but to plaster a smile on her face and comply. She stole a glance at Wing and Wei as she walked to the front row (because of course Asami had selected the front row); they didn’t look hurt by her decision so much as amused by her obvious discomfort (and perhaps a little perplexed by it).

The seating arrangement seemed peculiar–Asami was sitting in the second to last seat in the row, so that with Korra sitting beside her, they were cut off from the rest of the class–considering Asami’s popularity.

Korra recalled Lin’s request suddenly.

 _Am I reading too much into things or is this the type of thing Lin was talking about?_ Korra wondered, setting her things down on the desk. _Is she intentionally trying to isolate me or was that the only seat available when she got here? Fuck me, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for…_

“All right, settle down,” Lin barked. She waved her wand once, and a chart of spells appeared on the blackboard behind her (courtesy of the magical projector). “Let’s skip the introductions–we’ve been seeing each other for six years now, I’d hope we know each other.” The class chuckled. “The year’s material will be split into two categories–half review, half new. The N.E.W.T. will test you on powerful new magic, but it will test your foundation, too, so don’t think you can skimp on the basics.”

Meanwhile, Korra was annoyed–Defense Against the Dark Arts was the one class she actually wanted to pay attention in, but she was focused on all the wrong things. The way Asami flipped her hair over her shoulder so that it wouldn’t fall on her parchment, her swirly, cursive handwriting, her stupid, fancy quill, the fact that she was already scribbling down all the spells they had to cover this year–

_Stupid rich girl. Stupid perfect student._

“Today, we’re starting with new material. Can anyone tell me what the defensive charm used against Dementors and Lethifolds is called?”

Naturally, Asami’s hand shot into the air.

However, Lin seemed not to notice (intentionally ignored Asami) and instead fixed her sights on someone who was struggling not to break her quill in half. “Korra?”

The quill snapped, splattering ink all over Korra’s robes and belongings.

“Huh?” Korra asked stupidly, hand still outstretched.

The fact that her face was covered in ink did nothing to help.

The class burst into laughter.

The intensity with which Lin was pinching the bridge of her nose convinced Korra that the professor might develop a new scar soon.

Korra’s stomach sank. She could do nothing but fume silently as her classmates howled with mirth. Every shriek of laughter was a direct shot at her pride, and the Gryffindor found herself entirely without dignity within a few minutes.

“ _Scourgify!_ ”

Suddenly, the ink began to quiver–and then it shot into the air as if being sucked away by a vacuum, swirling in a large mass before disappearing all together with a quiet _pop_. Asami put her wand away and smiled at Korra.

_Stupid talented witch._

“Thank you, Miss Sato,” Lin grumbled from behind her hand, which was still covering most of her face. “Korra, have you decided to join the class?”

The class, which had been momentarily distracted by Asami’s seamless execution, began to giggle again.

Korra felt worse than she had after her nightmare.

“What was the question, again?” she asked meekly, feeling her ears turn red.

Korra didn’t know it was possible to exhibit such blatant disappointment, but Lin’s current expression was the epitome of the sentiment. To add salt to her wound, even Asami was giggling this time–demurely, behind her hand, as though displaying her gorgeous smile would _somehow_ make her less feminine.

“What. Is. The. Charm. Used. Against. Dementors.”

That didn’t sound like a question, but Korra answered anyway.

“The Patronus Charm.”

“Describe it.”

“It’s a defensive charm, and it can take two forms–incorporeal or corporeal. Incorporeal Patronuses take no shape, and are usually used to conceal one’s identity. Corporeal Patronuses are unique to each person, usually expressed in the form of a spirit guardian–an animal that best represents you or whatever causes you joy.”

“And how is it conjured?”

“One must concentrate on a memory of pure joy.”

“Exactly.”

At least that stopped the class from laughing. Korra hoped she had earned back even a fragment of her dignity.

“Stand back,” Lin ordered, holding her arms up, “I will demonstrate a corporeal Patronus.”

The students murmured in anticipation.

Lin took a deep breath. She closed her eyes in concentration.

The classroom was completely silent, everyone waiting with bated breath.

Then, Lin raised her arm, waved her wand in one swift, circular motion, and yelled, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A silver saber-tooth moose lion erupted from the tip of her wand.

The class exclaimed in wonder as the Patronus floated around the lecture hall, tossing its head majestically. It was a gorgeous sight–a perfect, silver-white rendition of the fauna pranced before them, swirling around the iron chandelier before vanishing into the dragon skeleton suspended from the ceiling.

The students were still squealing amongst themselves when Lin smoothened her robes out and began lecturing again.

“I hope you got a good look, because that’s what we’ll be practicing today.”

Silence.

Even Korra, who was always eager to confront any new challenge–especially that which required combative magic–was stunned. A Patronus Charm was well beyond the Ordinary Wizarding Level–even beyond the scope of what the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test would entail. Many adult wizards never came to grips with it in their lifetimes–how would a classroom full of sixth years handle this daunting trial?

“Err, Aunt Li—I mean, Professor Beifong, that’s, um…Isn’t this spell not on the required list?” Wei objected weakly.

Lin arched an eyebrow. “And since when have lists of regulations ever stopped you from doing something?”

The class giggled again–though the distress in their laughter was discernable.

“But…even adult wizards struggle with this,” Wing seconded.

“Look,” Lin huffed, “Tenzin may be soft on you lot, but after next year, you’ll be out in the real world. There’s no do-overs, no professors to swoop in and save you–you need to be able to fend for yourselves. And Amon just added an arsenal of Dementors to his army–” gasps echoed around the classroom “—yes, yes, we’re having _that_ conversation. Enough with this silence of cowards. Raiko may want to pretend everything is fine and we can shelter you here, but the reality is that we may not be able to. And if Amon attacks, you need to be ready.”

This was precisely why Korra only paid attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Lin’s speech drew mixed reactions from the class–the Gryffindors were riled up, while the Ravenclaws were murmuring to themselves uncertainly.

“Now then, I’ve managed to gather a few Boggarts for today’s assignment–” Korra recalled them vaguely from _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ —they were shapeshifters that took on the form of whatever their opponent feared most “—I know most of you won’t be able to conjure a full Patronus, but I want to see _something_. Pair up and work on your form, first–make sure you’re critiquing each other. When you’ve had enough practice, you can have a go at the Boggart.”

Eska raised her hand but began speaking before Lin called on her.

“Most people’s worst fear is probably Amon, not the Dementors,” she drawled matter-of-factly.

Lin looked unimpressed. “Yes, well, Amon might be able to take away your magic, but the Dementors can take away your _soul_. Think about that for an hour and we’ll see who fears what.”  

Korra shivered unpleasantly. She knew both sensations well enough.

“Now, off you go–I’ll check back with you in an hour.”

Korra felt someone tap her arm–she knew how this would end before it began. And that was how she found herself with Asami in one corner of the room, Wing and Wei and Desna and Eska paired off and tucked away elsewhere.

“I was really impressed with your answer,” Asami beamed, positively glowing, as Korra searched for a happy memory.

 _Yeah, well, I was really unimpressed with you showing off when I publicly humiliated myself,_ Korra thought bitterly.

But she forced a smile.

“Thanks. Uh, good job with the Scouring Charm,” Korra added unenthusiastically.

Asami tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “No problem. Happy to help.”

_I never said thank you, I said good job._

Korra settled on the memory of receiving her Hogwarts letter. She’d been convinced that she would be stuck in homeschooling with the way her parents sheltered her, but then that snowy owl–Oogie, she later learned, Tenzin’s personal owl–had appeared in the middle of the summer snow like a beacon of hope.

She took a deep breath.

Mimicking Lin, Korra swirled her wand in a circular motion and cried, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A thin, wispy puff of silver, then nothing. Similar cries echoed around her–only to be met with similar results.

“Bollocks,” Korra muttered. “Why don’t you have a go? I think I need to find a different memory.”

“Okay,” Asami acquiesced (uneasily, Korra noticed).

Korra studied the Ravenclaw as she racked her brains for something joyful.

_Probably going to conjure a perfect Patronus on her first try._

To her utter disbelief, Asami waved her wand in the wrong direction and mumbled something completely incoherent, producing absolutely nothing.

Korra stared.

_Is this really the same witch that performed nonverbal magic without batting an eye?_

Asami had gone very red in the face.

She cleared her throat, fiddling with the sleeve of her robes sheepishly. “I, uh…”

Korra questioned if it was all an act–if Asami just wanted attention before producing a flawless Patronus–but the other girl’s chagrin was too agonizing to be a guise. She looked genuinely mortified.

“It’s okay,” Korra said, waving dismissively _._ “Can’t be perfect at everything.”

To her surprise, Asami’s face darkened.

“I’m not perfect at everything,” she nearly snapped. “I’ve never been able to cast a proper Patronus.”

Korra blinked.

There was something very raw in that–something self-deprecating and insecure Korra didn’t think she would ever hear from Asami Sato.

“I…” Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I think you’re brilliant,” she admitted, despite herself.

_What am I doing?_

Asami glanced at her. She looked unconvinced.

“Why? Because I’m pretty and rich and Hiroshi Sato’s daughter?” she demanded.

Korra recoiled slightly.

“Err…well, no.” _In fact, I kind of resent that._ “You’re really good at magic. You know your stuff. Like, more stuff than a sixth year should know.” Korra cleared her throat, looking away awkwardly. “And, uh, that’s pretty impressive.”

She currently loathed her humanitarian side.

_I should be kicking her while she’s down…Why can’t I just be a bitch?_

Asami pursed her lips. She was looking at Korra intently.

“You don’t mean that,” she said finally.

Her eyes said otherwise–they were imploring, beseeching for reassurance.  

Korra shrugged. “I mean, I wish I didn’t. But it’s true–you’re a bloody good witch, Asami. Just because you didn’t get one spell down doesn’t make you a failure.”

Apparently, she’d rendered Asami speechless again.

The taller girl lowered her eyes, apparently struggling to process the praise. Then, she looked up at Korra from under her eyelashes again, and Korra felt her defenses wane.

“Thanks, Korra,” Asami said with a small smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Korra muttered, mentally kicking herself. _Really, please don’t._ “Mind if I have a go?”

Korra had chosen a new memory this time–meeting Mako and Bolin. It hadn’t exactly started off as a good memory–in fact, Mako (whom Korra had been enamored with from the moment she’d seen him play for the Gryffindor Quidditch team the year prior) had been the distraction for Bolin to pickpocket her. However, following a small squabble, the trio had decided to sit together on the Hogwarts Express, and after a first year of not really fitting in (because people only liked boys with fiery personalities, apparently, not girls), Korra had finally found real friends.

Inhaling deeply, Korra swished her wand again. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

This time, to her—and Asami’s–astonishment, she produced an incorporeal Patronus. A magnificent funnel of silver-white magic shot out of the end of her wand before fading away.

“Well done, Korra,” Lin called from the other side of the class.

She was currently chastising Wing and Wei for misusing the Patronus Charm to knock McNamara off his feet.

“Yeah, well done,” Asami agreed, though the compliment seemed half-hearted.

Korra could practically feel the waves of self-criticism pouring off the poor girl.

“I changed my memory–that helped. Why don’t you try picking a new one?” the Gryffindor suggested.

Asami nodded, though the gesture seemed more compliant than convinced.

After a few moments, she raised her wand again–repeated the exact same mistakes, and produced nothing.

“Damn it,” she cursed through gritted teeth.

Korra found that she liked this–this honest, raw, unladylike Asami–more than the infallible heiress.

“Here, let me help you,” Korra offered, though she acted before Asami could actually reply.

She stepped behind Asami and gingerly took hold of the other girl’s wrists.

“The most important thing is to move your arm counter-clockwise–like this,” Korra used Asami’s right hand to demonstrate.

“I-I’m left-handed,” Asami stuttered.

“Oops. Try this.” Korra demonstrated with the other this time. “And keep your other hand down–your wand gets confused if your stance is off. Counter-clockwise.” She repeated the motion. “See?”

But Asami was looking anywhere but at Korra.

“Did you think of a new memory?”

“Y-yeah. I think so.”

(Korra wasn’t entirely sure why Asami sounded so breathless.)

“Okay, try it out. Go on, then.”

Asami breathed out unsteadily. “ _E-Expecto Patronum!_ ”

The tip of Asami’s wand sparked vividly this time, but it was nowhere close to a Patronus.

“Don’t stutter—enunciation is everything. Come on, concentrate and try again,” Korra encouraged.

Asami took a deep breath again, and Korra felt the other girl’s back straighten against her.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Asami’s voice still shook, but she’d said the incantation properly this time–something silvery burst from the end of her wand. It faded far too quickly to be of any use in battle, but it was a massive improvement.

“There you go!” Korra hollered excitedly.

But Asami said nothing.

Korra didn’t realize how closely they were standing until she felt Asami’s cheek brush against hers–it was warm to the touch. She was pressed against Asami’s back, as she was much shorter than the Ravenclaw and could hardly reach around her–and apparently Asami had noticed, because her entire face was a deep scarlet.

There it was again–the scent of waterfall and jasmine.

“Well, you two are getting along famously,” Lin commented wryly.

The pair jumped apart. The retired auror regarded them with a raised eyebrow before turning her gaze on Korra, as if to say: ‘This isn’t what I meant.’

“Korra, let me see your Patronus,” Lin continued, crossing her arms behind her back.

Korra momentarily panicked–grabbing at straws–before steeling herself. She had found a suitable memory.

The Gryffindor nodded and stepped away from Asami.

This time, she decided to go with a memory from the summer between her second and third year. Tenzin had agreed to let the brothers stay with them for a week (provided they clean up after themselves). Of course, they’d done nothing of the sort, and a wild goose chase had ended in the children–all six of them (Korra, Mako, Bolin, Jinora, Ikki, and baby Meelo)–dog piling the Charms professor in the backyard. Pema had stood at the backdoor, offering her husband no assistance and instead laughing at his misery–and soon, everyone had joined in. Korra focused on the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their beautiful smiles–immortalized, crystalized, golden.

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ ” she bellowed.

To her amazement, a full-fledged polar bear dog exploded from the tip of her wand. It was marvelous–silver, shimmering, splendid–soaring through the lecture hall and weaving in between pairs before leaping out the door.

The class stared after it in awe before bursting into applause. Korra grinned bashfully, rubbing the back of her neck as her classmates showered her with praise. Her earlier spectacle seemed to be forgotten.

“That’s my friend!” Wei was announcing proudly to anyone who would listen.

Korra stole a glance at her partner.

Asami looked dazed.

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” Lin declared, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Class ended anticlimactically, as nobody else managed to produce a passable Patronus and Lin refused to allow Korra to face the boggart because “conjuring Amon in the middle of the classroom will do nothing for this assignment and for your classmates’ morale.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Between classes, homework, and prefect duty, Korra hardly had any time to dwell on anything else. Her sleep had improved marginally since her talk with Jinora, but every other night seemed to beckon a visit from Amon, and she found herself defenseless to these visions (which progressively grew worse).

Although there had been no trouble since the first night, school morale remained low, and everyone (especially the prefects and professors) was plagued by perpetual exhaustion.

Mako, being Head Boy, had even less time than Korra, and she was unsurprised that he hadn’t found time to fulfill her request yet. It was well into the second week that Korra and Mako finally found a reasonable time to meet at the library.

However, just as they approached the entrance, Lin materialized out of thin air and whisked Mako away to discuss something.

“Go ahead and get started–I’ll join you in a bit,” he called over his shoulder as he followed their Head of House.

“Okay,” Korra agreed, but her shoulders sank in disappointment.

It was the first opportunity she’d had to spend time with Mako since the school year had started, and it’d been snatched away from her before it could even begin.

So, with her limited knowledge and dwindling morale, Korra set off into the library.

The Hogwarts Library was something of a palace–with ornate architecture and lavish furniture that seemed to beguile students into spending hours there (Korra wondered if it’d been enchanted to do so). It was overseen by Wan Shi Tong, a bitter old librarian with birdlike feature who didn’t seem entirely human. There were shelves stacked with thousands upon thousands of books on all subjects–wizarding and muggle alike–Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes, elemental magic, magical creatures, primary sources from the Hundred Year War, gardening, cooking, psychology…

After spending what felt like an hour in the Divination section (a singular shelf that stretched to the ceiling, prompting Korra to use a ladder which seemed to grow longer as she climbed it–she suspected it actually did), Korra emerged with a stack of books. She picked a desk a bit secluded from the rest, hoping it wouldn’t take Mako too long to find her.

The first three books ( _Hopes and Dreams_ by the Ember Island Players, _I Dreamt I Was Eaten By a Flying Bison_ by Chief Sokka, and _I Don’t Get Any of This Spiritual Mumbo Jumbo—And I Can’t Read_ by Toph Beifong in collaboration with Katara) proved useless, and Korra had gone through several more before she found anything of value.

It was in _My Journey Through the Spirit World_ by General Iroh I that Korra found something worth noting down.

_In my youth, I believed the spirits were a product of superstition–something spread by the Tibetan monks to dissuade invaders. However, I soon learned they were real–and had a powerful stake in the wizarding world through Divination. Moreover, I learned that humans themselves possessed a bit of spiritual energy–their souls, the very vessels of their magic–and that the most powerful of wizards could allow this essence to be manifested physically in the form of–_

“Doing some research, Chosen One?”

_"You’re mine now, Chosen One.”_

Korra flinched violently, all but hurling the book. It hit a shelf with a loud _bang_ , attracting the attention of nearby students and Wan Shi Tong, who fixed Korra with a particularly nasty glare. Grinning apologetically at him, she turned to face her visitor–

The blood drained from Korra’s face.

Asami Sato was gazing down at her with an entertained expression.

 _How does she know that—that name?_ Korra balked. _My dreams–were they really omens? Could Asami actually be an Equalist?_

“W-what did you call me?” Korra stammered.

“Chosen One?” Asami repeated innocently.

But something was off–there was something darker underneath, something alien and ominous, a taunting edge to her voice that didn’t seem like Asami at all–or else, it seemed too much like her, but not the Asami Korra had come to know but the distant Asami she had hoped was just a nightmare. There was something like cold amusement playing on her lips–it was in her brow, in her gaze, and Korra found that it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar–she was reminded of their walk back from Potions yesterday–

“Isn’t that why you’re doing research–because you’ve been having bad dreams?”

_But how did–_

Then it hit her, and Korra squared her shoulders.

_Mako._

Gritting her teeth, Korra pushed her chair away from the desk and stood.

“I’m leaving,” she declared, trying not to let Asami see how affected she was.

Asami looked bewildered. “What? Where are you going? We have to travel in partners–”

But Korra stormed out of the library before the heiress could finish her sentence.

Her blood was boiling–and something underneath that, something icy and unwelcome–insecurity, jealousy, hurt—that, Korra ignored that part. She focused on her rage and balled her hands into fists.

She had just rounded the corner outside of the library when–

“Oof! Watch where you’re–Korra?” Mako’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, where are you going? I thought you wanted to–”  

“You told _Asami_?” Korra snarled.

Her voice echoed through the hall. Fortunately, the corridor was empty.

Mako blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

He clearly didn’t see the issue with this–and that only made Korra more indignant.

“Why the fuck did you tell her?” she demanded, shoving a finger in his chest.

The Head Boy frowned, still not following. “Because she’s smart? Duh. She’s the brightest witch in our school–if anyone can help us, it’s her.”

Korra exhaled through her nose.

“Seriously? You still don’t get what you did wrong?”

At this, Mako’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa–who said I did anything _wrong_?”

Korra’s nostrils flared.

“Are you kidding me, you thick git—I only told you because I _trusted_ you!” Korra’s voice was shaking with emotion, and she had to fight the stinging in her eyes. “That wasn’t your secret to tell! You had absolutely no right to tell anyone else–especially _her_!”

“What’s the big deal? Why are you overreacting? She’s not going to judge you–she wants to _help_ you,” Mako shot back, throwing his arms out in exasperation.

“I’m sure she does,” Korra spat. “You know something? I didn’t tell you my entire dream. At the beginning, _Asami_ was the one holding me hostage. _Asami_ was the one turning me over to Amon. _Asami_ is the reason I’m ‘overreacting.’”

While Korra had initially regretted not telling Mako about this, she almost immediately regretted telling him.

Mako’s face went blank. Then, it changed completely, and he turned on her with newfound fire.

“ _Are you being_ _serious, right now_? This dream of yours was just you being petty?”

Korra took a step back. “What? P-petty? I’m not–”  

“Like hell you’re not,” Mako cut her off. “I’m not stupid, Korra–just because you’re jealous of Asami doesn’t mean you get to accuse her of being an Equalist.”

“It’s not because of that–” Korra insisted, but the damage had already been done.

Where there had been patience and unyielding loyalty before, Mako’s eyes were now cold, distant, disbelieving. Korra didn’t know losing his confidence in her would hurt this much, but she felt hollow–renewed fear struck where there had been temporary reprieve.

“I thought you saw something important, like _I_ …I didn’t think you were this pathetic, Korra,” Mako muttered.

Korra felt like he had punched her in the gut.

“I thought _I_ was your best friend…I thought—I thought you’d always take my side…” she trailed off feebly.

The stinging in her eyes was getting harder to ignore.

“This isn’t about sides, Korra! You…you _are_ my best friend,” Mako admitted softly. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose; it was reminiscent of their Head of House. “Look, this…this is all a little hard to digest. I’m sorry I don’t want to accuse my girlfriend.”

Korra’s heart fell.

_Girlfriend._

Of all the hurtful things Mako had ever said to her, this had to have been the worst.

She turned to leave.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.”


	4. Tarrlok's Task Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I got a lot of questions last chapter so I’m going to take some time to address them:
> 
> Outside of being a useless gay, Asami 100% knows what she’s doing and everything is intentional.
> 
> If you’re confused about what parts of her behavior are genuine and what parts are an act–good! So is Korra.
> 
> Yes, I agree, the love triangle is annoying (and it is equally as annoying to write)—however, this story was inspired by the idea of rewriting the canon in the world of Harry Potter, so it is a necessary evil; I will definitely cut it off much, much, much earlier than in the show and remove as much of the toxic elements as possible. I just believe it’s a good starting point for building tension between Korra and Asami and for Korra to begin exploring her sexuality.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this chapter severely jet-lagged and sleep-deprived so feel free to point out any mistakes.
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all the feedback—I really appreciate it and love hearing your thoughts/theories/hi-hello’s/ramblings at odd hours.

* * *

 

With no trouble from the Equalists for three consecutive weeks, the staff had agreed to lift some of the restrictions on the students. Roll calls had been reduced to one a day, students were now allowed to roam the campus freely (before curfew)—granted they didn’t venture into the Forbidden Forest–Hogsmeade trips had been scheduled, prefect patrol hours had been cut in half, and most importantly, Quidditch teams had received an all-clear to begin the season. The faculty insisted that the aurors remain on campus, students still travel in partners, and incoming mail still be verified first—though, Korra didn’t find these regulations to be particularly bothersome.

The greatest reprieve, however, came in the form of being able to sleep in her four-poster bed again. To Korra’s immense relief, the staff had deemed it was safe for students to return to their House dormitories–meaning no more sleeping on the floor, and no more _Asami._

 _Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend_ –the word mocked her incessantly.

While Korra still had visions (questions that went unanswered), no longer having to lie beside the greatest source of her anxiety (the biggest unknown) did wonders for her sleep.

Korra wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the whole situation–had Asami merely been teasing her in the library, given what Mako had told her? Or had she intentionally called Korra “Chosen One”—was she testing her? Did Lin have a right to suspect Asami?

It made Korra’s head ache, and like all conundrums thus far, she found no solution.

She’d rushed back to the library the day after her argument with Mako–only to find that _My Journey Through the Spirit World_ had been checked out already.

“Bugger it! Who has it?” Korra had demanded.

Wan Shi Tong had peered at her over his round spectacles–giving him the distinct impression of an owl. “I am under no obligation to share such information with you.”

So, after some more bickering (and the loss of several House points), Korra had resigned to waiting (and checking the library everyday) for the book to be returned.

Classes had been horrid–even if Korra enjoyed Defense Against the Dark Arts, she could barely focus–Asami fought well, too well, and Korra doubted the heiress needed a Patronus with her skill–while Potions had proven absolutely foul. Without Asami’s help–which had been substituted by Hiroshi’s unyielding scrutiny–Korra had been underperforming almost every class, to the professor’s delight. He seemed to take joy in mocking her, and Korra didn’t know what she had done to warrant his disdain. She knew that Hiroshi held too much influence over Raiko–who was too self-interested to take on such a powerful public figure–for her to successfully file a formal complaint, and the professor seemed well aware of this.

Korra had taken to avoiding Asami as much as possible for the time being, sticking to the Beifong twins like glue (Wei hated when it was Wing’s turn to partner with her as he somehow always ended up with McNamara). Although she recognized that she was failing to make due on her promise to Lin, to her own chagrin, Korra found that her inability to confront her fears took precedence over her obligations. Nevertheless, Korra was ultimately defenseless against Asami’s inexorable presence in the classroom (and the shame of being a coward).

Somehow, everything always came back to Asami, and Korra abhorred that her life revolved around the root of her torment.

To make matters worse, things between her and the brothers had grown incredibly awkward. Mako seemed unable to choose between his girlfriend and his best friend–so he’d elected to avoid the conflict entirely, by avoiding Korra entirely. Their daily rendezvous on the Quidditch field was now attended only by Bolin and Korra—and even if they were the ones that normally did most of the talking, it felt unusually empty without Mako, which left them unusually quiet. Sometimes Opal would join them to fill the vacancy, but this usually reduced Korra to a third wheel, and she felt even worse.

While Bolin did his best to fill Mako’s shoes, Korra sulked. She felt terrible for it, knowing the toll this ordeal was taking on the youngest member of their trio–but he never let it show, shouldering the burden of his seniors’ blunders with inextinguishable zeal.

Fortunately, one good thing was happening this week–Quidditch tryouts. However, even that left a bitter taste in Korra’s mouth; Mako had sent out an announcement to everyone earlier in the week–but he usually told Korra in person, not via owl.

“Hey, wait up!”

Korra paused by the castle entrance, waiting for the speaker to catch up with her.

Bolin let out a low-whistle. “Looking sharp, Korra!”

Korra was sporting the new Quidditch uniform issued by Sato Industries. It consisted of a padded chest plate, bronze shin guards, cedar boots, white leggings, and a cloak–all scarlet with gold trim (each was themed according to House); it outclassed the old school-issued uniform by miles. The only downfall of Korra’s gear was her Quidditch gloves, which were her own. They were battered, flimsy, worn (she’d been using them for the past four years)—she knew they would provide little protection, but favored them anyway.

The Gryffindor chuckled. “Thanks, Bolin.” She nodded at the petite girl tucked under his arm. “Hey, Opal. What are you guys doing here? Today is Gryffindor’s tryouts.”

“Scoping out the competition, of course,” Bolin grinned with a wink.

Both Bolin and Opal played for the Hufflepuff team–Bolin was a Beater, naturally, and Opal was the Seeker. Both proved formidable opponents.

“Plus,” the Beater jabbed a finger at his girlfriend, “she wants to watch her brothers embarrass themselves.”

Opal smirked. “Guilty as charged. Plus–we can’t let you walk alone.”

Korra had completely forgotten about that with all the newfound freedom. She flashed a grateful smile at the slighter girl, who responded in kind.

“And I want to be there to support my dudes!” Bolin added with a fist pump.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “Did you just say ‘dudes’?”

Bolin’s enthusiasm faltered. He grinned sheepishly.

“You’re starting to sound like a Yank,” Korra chided, but she was smiling.

“Asami says it all the time—it’s catchy,” Bolin countered defensively, and Korra’s smile vanished.

Her stomach churned. Of course, Bolin had to have spent _some_ time with Asami–Mako was his brother, he wouldn’t stay away from his only family. And really, Korra wasn’t upset about that–but she had to remind herself she had no right to be upset that Bolin was friendly with Asami, even if it felt like a slap to the face. Bolin could spend his time with whomever he wished.

Besides, Korra hadn’t told him everything–partly because she suspected he’d report it back to Mako, which would only complicate things even more, but mostly because she didn’t know how to make sense of it all herself.

“Let’s get a move on,” Korra muttered.

So, the trio set off across the grounds, chattering amongst themselves (both Hufflepuffs worked hard to get Korra to divulge Gryffindor’s strategies–but she had nothing to offer, mostly because she herself hadn’t been briefed yet). The sun hung just above them, painting the sky golden with lavenders and roses.

Just when the couple had managed to lift Korra’s spirits, they were once again dampened the moment the trio set foot on the Quidditch field.

Asami was there–of course, she was there–and had just kissed Mako full on the mouth before mounting the steps to the bleachers. Of course, she was going to watch the tryouts.

Korra felt like abandoning the affair altogether, but she knew as well as anyone that spots on the team were never guaranteed (save for the Captain) and that all players had to re-audition every year. So, she bid farewell to Bolin and Opal, who both squeezed her shoulder encouragingly, and joined the flock of hopeful Gryffindors (who all looked identical in their Sato Industries uniforms) on the field.

The Hogwarts Quidditch field, though much smaller than that of a professional stadium, was the size of several muggle football fields; three hoops (the center slightly elevated above the outer rings) propped on posts towering hundreds of feet in the air were stationed on either end. The parameter was lined with checkered towers, each adorned with one of the House colors.

Mako didn’t spare Korra a glance as she joined the crowd.

“ALL RIGHT, IS THIS EVERYONE?” he bellowed.

He had obviously used an Amplifying Charm, for his voice echoed over the field, overpowering both the prattle of the auditionees and the spectators. They all fell silent.

Satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, Mako held out his hand in an impressive but unnecessary display–a Satobroom whizzed into it. The crowd murmured in awe.

“As you all know, Professor Sato has generously donated Satobrooms to each House team.” A cheer ran through the arena. “However, there are only seven brooms per team–meaning every position will require individual auditions–” discontented grumbles “–so the first position I’ll be accepting candidates for is Seeker.”

A buzz of excitement rippled through the audience.

Those who weren’t interested in the position moved off the field, leaving a row of lean fifth and sixth years–and a sole third year. Physically, he was much slighter than the rest–but his demeanor overshadowed theirs; he was easily the most relaxed. Boasting an undercut and a tan (partially a result of excessive Quidditch practice), he glanced at his competition with mischievous green eyes.

Korra knew better than to doubt him.

Kai was the most brilliant Seeker she’d seen since coming to Hogwarts. Given his unorthodox, cunning techniques (blatant disregard for Mako’s orders)–and nasty habit of stealing–Korra pegged him more as a Slytherin than a Gryffindor, but there was always room for character development. (Besides, Slytherin already dominated the Quidditch Cup—they didn't need the school's best Seeker, as well.)

Thirty minutes later, Kai had joined the spectators in the stands, having secured the first position on the Gryffindor team. The Seeker tryouts typically entailed assessing each contender’s ability to catch the Snitch in a timely manner—while being clobbered with Bludgers. The other candidates had put up a decent fight, but it had taken Kai less than a minute to catch the Snitch; they left the field grumbling.

“Next, we’ll have the Keepers!”

This audition, as another lone position, also went fairly quickly. Mako did the auditionees no favors, demonstrating his (nearly) unparalleled finesse as a Chaser–which left most of them with a score of zero or a remarkable one goal blocked.

Korra, in spite of herself, stole a glance at Asami. It was like having a scab you couldn’t stop picking at, even if it hurt. To her surprise, Asami wasn’t ogling her boyfriend–instead, when Korra looked–she found Asami staring back at her.

Both girls looked away hastily.

Tu was the only one who managed to keep up with Mako, blocking four out of five goals. He flew by the stands to hi-five Kai before returning to the field–it was time for the Chaser auditions, and the team Keeper had to participate.

Mako had a special way of running Chaser tryouts: He took on multiple auditionees at a time, testing their chemistry with each other, as well as their skill.

The first hour was dreadful–nobody could keep up with Mako’s fast-paced techniques, most too slow (physically, mentally, or both) to handle his plays and far too intimidated by Tu’s stature to score any goals. Korra could practically see Tahno’s smirk as he brandished the Quidditch Cup trophy in her face–for what would be the fifth year in a row.

Fortunately, the second hour was significantly better. A robust seventh year with an undercut and bangs that fell into her face proved to be a match for both cousins, outflying all of her competition with incredible grace. Terrace Prince (Korra had learned from her neighbor) managed to keep up with most of Mako’s passes and scored twelve goals on Tu. She had a scar on the side of her face, leaving Korra to wonder if it was from a Quidditch accident or a duel.

“Bloody brilliant, Terrace! You’re in. Better luck next time, James. Next!” Mako called from the air as the failed contender—James Kim—returned to the ground, bruised and battered.

Korra rolled her eyes. Mako had intentionally avoided addressing her by her name–but everyone knew who he was referring to, as Korra was the only Chaser candidate remaining.

James, a fifth-year prefect, handed Korra the Satobroom and mouthed, ‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ Korra mouthed back.

She took a deep breath (trying to ignore the fact that Asami was in the crowd and would probably pick up on all of her shortcomings) and mounted her broom. It had been a few weeks since she’d last flown, what with all the security measures, but this feeling–this was entirely new. The sleek finish on the Satobroom gave her an easy grip, and Korra could virtually feel the firepower of the broom whirring beneath her–her old Comet Two Sixty paled in comparison.

Feeling slightly more confident, Korra kicked off the ground and into the air. To her pleasant surprise, the Satobroom glided upwards without the recoil of most other broomsticks, making her ascent (and subsequent maneuvering) much more effortless than normal.

_I have to hand it to them–the Satos know what they’re doing._

Korra was now face to face with Terrace–who smiled at Korra–and Mako–who refused to make eye contact. She returned Terrace’s smile and glowered at Mako, who, without looking at her, asked, “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again.

Then they were off–weaving, dashing, twirling–

The Bludgers were roaming freely, and with no Beaters to guide them, Korra had to rely entirely on instinct to avoid them. She dodged them nimbly—then, suddenly, halfway through a loop-the-loop, the Quaffle hurtled at her.

Korra caught it easily with one hand, still upside down. She heard the crowd exclaim in awe beneath her as she spun right-side up. Grinning, she flew past Mako, who somehow looked simultaneously proud and disgruntled that Korra had outsmarted him.

Tu was waiting for her, arms up—but having played with him since her second year, Korra knew his weaknesses too well. She feinted left–then right–Tu fell for the second–and then threw the Quaffle into the air and hit it into the center ring with the tail of her broom—

The crowd went wild.

Korra’s heart soared. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, the wind was cool against her face–she’d missed this feeling dearly. She glanced down at the crowd–picking the scab again–and found Asami.

Asami looked genuinely impressed, and despite herself, Korra was pleased. 

“Nice one!” Terrace grinned, hi-fiving Korra when she returned to the starting position.

“Making me look stupid since year two,” Tu pouted, but his eyes were beaming.

Mako offered no praise. “Again!”

They flew again.

This time Mako himself blocked Korra, but Terrace—through some miraculous telepathy–caught Korra’s pass (a feinted drop) and scored. They flew again–and again–and again. Korra either helped one of her teammates score or scored herself each time, and even unspeaking, Mako and Korra worked together flawlessly, years of practice and friendship speaking for them; the trio had wonderful chemistry—almost as strong as Korra and Mako did with Bolin during aimless summer games—and after twenty goals, Mako conceded and accepted Korra as the third Chaser.

However, Korra knew her part was far from over.

Beater tryouts involved most of the team–save for the Seeker. Kai grinned smugly at his breathless, (heavily) perspiring teammates. The audition consisted of having the candidates try to prevent the Chasers from scoring–in effect, staging a full Quidditch match of sorts except pitting the Beaters and the Keeper against their own Chasers.

Korra knew who their Beaters would be before tryouts began–or so she thought.

The Beifong twins made an impeccable team–perfectly in tune with each other, each with a different set of skills. Wing had excellent aim and never missed a shot; Wei, although not as precise, was at least twice as strong, and hit Bludgers with the potential to kill. Wing kept the match in Gryffindor’s favor while Wei dealt the game-ending blows.

However, Wei looked abnormally nervous today. He was slightly green, quivering as he held his Satobroom, and nearly fell off the first time he tried to mount it.

Although concerned, Korra wasn’t too worried–every contender so far had failed to stop the Chasers from scoring. Wing had managed exceptionally well on his own, complementing whoever was his partner, but Korra knew he would play even better once his twin joined him.

To her disbelief, Wei almost knocked himself out on the first swing.

Mako blew his whistle.

“Time out,” he yelled. The players flew to the center of the field.

Below them, the crowd began murmuring amongst themselves. Anyone who was a fan of Quidditch knew of the unstoppable Beifong brothers–today, they were witnessing the stoppable Beifong brother.

“Wei, what’s gotten into you?” Mako demanded once he was within earshot.

Wei rubbed the back of his neck. “J-just nervous,” he muttered almost inaudibly.

Mako was unsympathetic.

“Well, get your head in the game or get out–just because you’ve been on the team before doesn’t mean you’re getting your spot back. Not with this performance.”

“I know,” Wei mumbled dismally.

Korra frowned.

Between the twins, Wei had always been the more confident one–the de facto leader, in a manner of speaking. He was always boisterous, always daring, fully embodying the boldness of Gryffindor. Korra had never seen him unsettled–this would mark Wei’s fifth year on the Quidditch team, and he’d breezed through every practice and every match of every year with a grin on his face.

Korra glanced down at the bleachers–and found a familiar face. McNamara was sitting in the front row, arms crossed, wearing a smirk. Of course, anyone was welcome to watch tryouts–Korra fully intended on watching the other House tryouts for strategic purposes, as well–but she nonetheless found herself annoyed.

Still, it didn’t make sense that McNamara’s mere presence would throw Wei off his game–they’d played against Ravenclaw numerous times and won just as many.

Wing followed Korra’s gaze—before a knowing look crossed his face. He tapped Wei and whispered something in his ear. Whatever he said seemed to have worked because Wei squared his shoulders with a nod. He still looked anxious, but his hands were steady now, and his eyes hardened with resolve.

“I’m sorry, Cap’n. Won’t happen again,” Wei promised with a comical salute.

Mako couldn’t help but crack a smile, even if it was a small one. “Okay. Let’s go again.”

They continued tryouts–and Wei’s performance continued to dwindle. It was a complicated situation, for he still played better than the other auditionees, but far below his own caliber. So, Mako tried a new approach–consistency.

The team played for another hour, with test upon test that Wei passed by the skin of his teeth.

Korra wondered whose stamina Mako was really testing—Tu had been playing for close to three hours, and Terrace and Korra for two. Then again, Mako had been playing all evening, so Korra swallowed her grievances and complied.

It wasn’t until the final play that Wei made his fatal mistake.

“Okay, last one, and then we’ll wrap up!” Mako called before launching the Quaffle into play.

Mako and Terrace were weaving in between Wing and Wei, who were putting up a strong fight. Korra decided to wait off to the side so that she was open in case either of her teammates found an opportunity. She waited an awfully long time, floating aimlessly—her mind was mind beginning to wander…

“Korra–think fast!” Terrace cried, hurling the Quaffle at her.

 _Finally,_ Korra thought, elated to have something to do.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Wei swing his bat—and wobble—he nearly dropped it—swung the wrong way–

_CRACK._

Wei had managed to hit a Bludger, but it wasn’t heading for Korra–or any of the Chasers, for that matter. In fact, it wasn’t even going towards the Quidditch field.

The iron ball shot towards the stands–the crowd was shouting, but nobody knew what to do–

“Look out!” Mako cried helplessly from the other side of the field.

He was beginning to turn around, but it was too late—the Bludger was heading straight for Asami–

Korra felt her three of her fingers snap as the Bludger collided with her (almost) bare hands.

She hissed in anguish–pain shot through her left hand; she barely managed to restrain the enchanted ball until Wing arrived to wrestle it back into the wooden crate.

Wei yelped as if he was the one that had been hit.

“KORRA!” Bolin was already running down the stairs and onto the field.

Opal was standing up, mouth covered with both hands. Even McNamara looked aghast. Asami–

Asami was stunned.

She, too, was standing, wand outstretched—but Korra had beat her to it. The heiress looked as though someone had cast the Stupefying Charm on her. After a moment, she seemed to awaken from her stupor and lowered her hand.

“ _You_ …” Asami’s voice was odd. She looked incredulous. “You…you didn’t have to do that,” she said finally, gazing up at Korra.

Her expression was unreadable.

“Trust me, I know,” Korra replied through gritted teeth, cradling her broken fingers with her uninjured hand.

_I wish I hadn’t._

But Korra knew herself too well, and knew she would take no joy in seeing Asami suffer.

 “Korra–Korra, I’m so sorry!” Wei screeched when he arrived beside her. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, oh Merlin–” 

 “I knew I needed new gloves,” Korra joked weakly in an attempt to comfort him, but her grimace ruined the effect.

She could scarcely concentrate on anything besides the terrible agony in her hand–each appendage throbbed violently, and Korra had to bite down on her lip to keep from screaming. Her head was beginning to feel faint; she could taste blood…

“Here, here, I got you.”

Korra leaned into Wei and allowed herself to be carried down to the ground.

The rest of the team joined them shortly; Mako, voice enchanted, bellowed, “TRYOUTS ARE OVER! PACK UP AND GET LOST IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LOSE HOUSE POINTS!”

Those who hadn’t gotten to audition wailed in protest–the spectators were whispering and pointing at Korra–but nobody argued with the Head Boy. As the crowd began to disperse, Bolin caught up to Wei and Korra.

“What the hell was that!” Bolin snarled at Wei, who recoiled.

“He feels bad enough, ease off,” Korra intervened although her grunt of pain was unconvincing.

Relenting, Bolin gingerly wrapped an arm around Korra’s shoulders. “We need to get you patched up.”

The other players approached, all wearing expressions of concern. Mako looked at Korra for a split second–but if Korra expected anything more, she would be disappointed–he looked away almost immediately.

“Wei, get her to the hospital wing, _now_!” he ordered.

“O-okay! C’mon, Korra.”

Wei’s fingers were trembling on Korra’s arm as he led her away from the field. Bolin and Opal—who’d just caught up—trailed behind them, something like protective guard dogs.

Opal had got what she wanted–Wei _had_ embarrassed himself–but Korra doubted she was happy about it.

Behind them, Korra heard Asami approach Mako. 

Mako’s voice instantly changed. “I can’t believe that happened. Are you okay, sweetie?”

Korra never thought she would _ever_ hear Mako use the word ‘sweetie.’

“I’m fine—you should be worried about Korra.”

“I am, I just don’t know what to do…Wei…”

There was some more murmuring–Korra couldn’t make out all of it–

She glanced over her shoulder, saw Asami embracing Mako, and looked away promptly.

“It’ll be okay. You did great out there, sweetie,” Asami crooned.

 _Funny_ , thought Korra.

Asami’s eyes had been on her the whole time.

 

* * *

 

Pema mended Korra’s fingers quickly; a simple Healing Spell, a wave of heat—then a chill–and then Korra could wiggle her fingers again with no difficulty.

Unfortunately, she refused to allow Korra to miss class as, one, her hand was fine, and two, it hadn’t even been her wand hand. Korra had left the hospital wing scowling.

Good fortune came instead in the form of Wei’s appointment to the Gryffindor team as the second Beater. Despite his blunder, there was no denying that Wei had performed the best amongst the auditionees (save for his brother); thus, by the miraculous grace of Merlin, with a warning and a thirty-point deduction from Gryffindor (much to Mako’s chagrin), he had received the position. The news came as a relief to Korra, who blamed her impulsive hero complex more than she blamed Wei for her injury.

Nevertheless, with no valid excuse, Korra attended her classes the next day.

It seemed misfortune wasn’t done with Korra yet, because Tarrlok kept her after class.

“Korra, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Other than the fact that they both hailed from the Wizarding Tribes–and Tarrlok hardly counted, having spent the majority of his life in London–Korra had little in common with the Herbology professor, and even less to discuss. In fact, this was probably the first time they had interacted, and Korra was surprised that Tarrlok knew her name at all.

“These restrictions on daily life–they’re getting to be a bit stifling, no?” the ex-politician simpered down at her.

There was something very off-putting about Tarrlok’s smile; it reminded Korra of those discounted muggle establishments (dollar stores? Pound shops?) that sold knockoffs—cheap imitations of genuine products. It tried to be persuading, but it fell short, somewhere around unsettling–his political background was showing, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“I mean, they’re mostly gone now,” Korra replied flatly, leaning against the door to the greenhouse. She crossed her arms. “Plus, there’s been no sign of the Equalists for weeks.”

Tarrlok’s smile didn’t waver.

“Yes, well…there are still some strictures in place, and I know you, of all people, with your childhood–” Korra’s hackles rose “—would favor freer conditions, no?” _How the hell does he know_ that _?_ “And maybe that’s just what the Equalists want you to think—that you’re safe, and once your guard is down, they’ll strike!” Tarrlok slammed his fist into his hand for emphasis.

Firmly aggravated, Korra sighed and pushed off the greenhouse door. “Look, with all due respect, sir—just tell me what you want.”

If Tarrlok was upset by her cheek, he didn’t let it show.

“I’m proposing we form a task force–one of aurors, prefects, and some of my men from the Ministry—to protect Hogwarts from the Equalists. It will be entirely responsible for the security of the school, leaving students free to live as they wish. Constant supervision.  _I,_ ” the professor gestured grandiosely to himself, “will head said task force. What do you say?”

Korra’s face didn’t change.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. What do you need me for?”

“Well, I’d like a representative from the students to oversee the prefect section of the task force,” Tarrlok explained matter-of-factly. His arms were crossed behind his back unpretentiously—but it was still pretentious, and it bothered Korra to no end.

“Why not one of the Student Heads? Why me?”

Tarrlok’s eyes glinted mysteriously, like he knew something Korra didn’t. And then it was gone, and he was wearing that cheap smile again.

“Because you’re the best Defense Against the Dark Arts student this school has to offer,” he said simply.

Korra keenly recalled Tenzin’s contempt for the man, and didn’t disagree.

“I’ll think about it,” she retorted before sidestepping around him.

She had no intention of doing so.

 

* * *

 

_“Accio!”_

Nothing happened.

“Korra, you need to say the _name_ of the object you’re Summoning.”

_“Accio apple!”_

The apple gave a weak quiver, but didn’t budge.

“You’re not focusing!”

“I’m trying, all right? I’ve got a lot on my plate!” Korra fired back, dropping her wand irritably.

She was sweaty, out of breath, and hungry, but Tenzin insisted on continuing their lesson.

The Deputy Headmaster pinched the bridge of his nose, and Korra was starting to resent that that seemed to be everyone’s response to her. Then, he sighed, and when he looked at her again, his eyes were gentle.

Tenzin’s eyes were remarkably similar to Katara’s—if not identical—and Korra found that both of her mentors shared a comforting mien.  

“I’m sorry, Korra.” Tenzin’s voice was softer, free of reproach. “Perhaps I am being a bit inconsiderate. Why don’t we take a break?”

Korra nodded in relief.

They were in the Charms classroom, which was completely empty save for them. As usual, Korra was the only Remedial Charms student. She leapt over the teacher’s desk onto the upholstered chair, prompting Tenzin to roll his eyes—but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he leaned against the desk.

“How are you adjusting to everything?” Tenzin asked.

Korra’s cheeky grin vanished.

“Not great,” she confessed. “Plus, Tarrlok kept me after class.”

Tenzin frowned. “Yes, I noticed you were a bit late today. Are you all right?”

Korra nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. He wanted me to join some task force to protect Hogwarts from the Equalists.”

Tenzin nearly fell off the desk. Repositioning himself, he leaned forward slightly to ask, “What did you tell him?”

Korra noticed he was paler than usual, and didn’t know whether to be affronted or amused that Tenzin expected her to dive head first into this. She settled on amused, because it wouldn’t be entirely unexpected for her to do so.

“I said ‘I’ll think about it,’ because I didn’t want to say ‘sod off’ to a professor's face,” Korra chuckled. “Don’t worry, there’s no way in hell I’m doing it.”

Relief washed over Tenzin’s face. “Good—good.” It took a great deal of willpower for Korra to resist pointing out that he was repeating himself. “You mustn’t fall for Tarrlok’s cheap tricks—that man only wants power for himself, and he will stop at nothing to acquire it. I don’t want the Equalists–or Amon—laying a hand on you because of his greed.”

It was Korra’s turn to blanch.

The mention of Amon sent a wave of fear through her, and she was startled to find her heart pounding.

Tenzin was too sharp to not notice. “Korra, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Korra insisted, but it was much less convincing this time, and Tenzin wouldn’t relent.

He got off the desk and knelt beside Korra, so that her face was slightly above his.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Tenzin said earnestly, searching Korra’s eyes.

The Gryffindor wondered if he could read her mind. She recalled Jinora’s advice, and sighed. Even if she wanted to, she was never one for avoiding her problems (unless they rhymed with taco and salami).

“Well…there is something I wanted to talk you about,” Korra admitted begrudgingly, “but you have to _promise_ you won’t tell my dad.”

Tenzin’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Korra, I…this is a hard task you ask of me,” he said slowly, not meeting her eyes. “This entire agreement—you being here at Hogwarts—is based on Tonraq’s trust in me–trust that I’m taking care of you and keeping him informed of your wellbeing.”

Korra knew it would come to this.

She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine, whatever. Forget I said anything.”

Tenzin looked troubled. He groaned, covering his face with one hand; the only thing visible was his beard.

Korra continued glaring at the floor

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Charms professor emerged, though he didn’t look any better–in fact, he looked considerably worse.

Worse for wear, Tenzin pressed, “Do you promise full disclosure if I vow to keep this between us?”

Korra’s eyes lit up. “Do you swear you won’t tell?”

Tenzin looked resigned. “I swear.”

“Okay, I promise,” Korra concurred triumphantly.

“Everything, though, Korra–you must tell me everything,” Tenzin said gravely.

There was something odd about this–as though he expected something to happen, as though he knew something she didn’t.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Korra frowned, but agreed uneasily, “Okay. I will.”

When she had finished telling Tenzin about her dreams, he looked as if she’d been hiding a pregnancy from him.

“I wish you had told me sooner…this is…this is terrible news,” Tenzin murmured, mostly to himself. He ran a hand over his head in distress (admittedly, it was a little comical considering he had no hair).

“So, what’s this ‘Chosen One’ business?” Korra asked innocently.

Tenzin’s eyes immediately hardened. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Korra gaped.

“But it’s literally about _me_!”

“A few dreams mean nothing,” Tenzin denied.

“But you just said it was terrible news! You’re literally panicking!”

 “I am doing nothing of the sort!” Tenzin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I believe what we’re dealing with here is Legilimency–the practice of invading another’s mind through magic. Amon must be manipulating you,” he declared.

“Why me?” Korra retorted skeptically.

“I, err…” Tenzin was looking anywhere but at Korra.

“Because I’m the Chosen One?” Korra pressed.

“Enough about this nonsense!” Tenzin stood and smoothened his robes. “We will arrange another time to meet to work on a skill that will help you shield your mind from Amon. Let’s get back to work for now.”

Korra groaned and rolled her eyes.

But Tenzin had agreed to not tell Tonraq—for _her_ sake—so she wasn’t going to give him any trouble (although she wanted to). She owed him that much.

“I suggest you visit Kya, as well,” Tenzin added after a moment. He looked reluctant–as though doubtful of his sister’s usefulness. “She will probably be able to interpret these visions better than I. Now, again.”

 _“Accio apple!_ ”

The apple teetered on the desk and then fell on its side.

 

* * *

 

With Bumi’s permission (which wasn’t that difficult to come by), Korra had been allowed to take Naga, her polar bear dog, out for a ride on the grounds to clear her head.

Hogwarts typically only allowed small domesticated animals as pets–owls, cats, toads–in Bolin’s case, an illegal fire ferret. Fortunately, the staff had agreed to allow Korra to bring Naga, given her extenuating circumstances as a student from the Southern Wizarding Tribe; however, they’d mandated that the polar bear dog had to stay with Bumi, the groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, and that she was never allowed in the castle.

It'd been several weeks since Korra had last seen Naga (given security measures), so the reunion was a pleasant occasion–and a much-needed distraction from her terrible week.

“Hey, hey, easy!”

Korra was lying spread-eagled on the grass, pinned down by Naga. They had reached the school border near the Forbidden Forest, but the moment Korra had dismounted the polar bear dog to turn back, she’d been tackled to the ground.

Naga feigned deafness and continued licking Korra. Her tongue was larger than Korra’s entire face, and the Gryffindor found herself drenched in saliva before she managed to calm down her pet.

“I missed you too, girl,” Korra laughed, stroking Naga’s snout.

The polar bear dog whimpered, as though rebutting Korra’s claim, and then wagged her tail. Korra chuckled, continuing to stroke Naga from where she was; she found solace in running her fingers through the massive creature’s fur, which came away like silk. Naga closed her eyes in bliss–her legs were growing weak–

“No, girl! Don’t sit on me!”

But before Naga could collapse on Korra–there was a blinding explosion of red, and the polar bear dog was blasted off her feet.

“NAGA!” Korra roared, jumping to her own feet.

The polar bear dog had landed several feet away, and lay unconscious at the foot of a large tree.

Before Korra could take a step towards her, another flash of red hurtled towards _her_ –

Korra threw herself sideways, just barely managing to dodge the spell.

Rolling onto all fours, she gazed up at the aggressor.

The blood drained from Korra’s face.

An Equalist stood before her, wand extended wordlessly.

_But how? How did he get in—_

He—Korra assumed it was a he, she had no way of telling–was robed in a hunter green jumpsuit with gloves to match, brown combat boots, a burgundy scarf, and an ebony mask with neon green goggles and golden tubes along the sides (reminiscent of snorkels). There was a scarlet circle emblazoned on his mask—just like Amon’s–but the Equalist looked more like a giant mosquito without wings.

 _"Stupefy!”_ Korra cried, brandishing her wand.

Red sparks shot towards the Equalist–who deflected it effortlessly and brought his wand back in a sharp motion.

Korra was quick—the quickest Chaser Gryffindor had seen in years—but she only managed to partially dodge the spell–

She howled in pain as azure flames scorched the back of her left leg. Korra crumbled to the ground once again—she’d lost all feeling in the limb—

To her alarm, there was no evidence of physical injury–but her leg ached as if it’d been pierced by a sword.

_What? I’ve never seen that curse—_

But the Equalist didn’t stop–he waved his wand again, and again–

Korra managed to repel two of the spells and send one back of her own–but the Equalist parried all of her attacks without breaking a sweat, and Korra was running out of energy—he was always one step ahead of her, fighting with nonverbal magic–which meant Korra had no way of guessing what spell to counter with–and even beyond that, he seemed to know how she thought, how she fought—seemed to know _her_ –

As they circled each other, Korra couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu; there was something oddly familiar about the Equalist’s fighting style, something almost quotidian about it–

Korra's opponent promptly took advantage of her momentary distraction.

Korra cried out in anguish as another spell hit her square in the chest, sending her flying backwards–

Her heart was beating so fast–she could hardly breathe–

Then, she recalled something Lin had taught her on her first day at Hogwarts.

_"Make sure you use proper form when casting spells–the hand movement is everything.”_

_Of course!_

Korra studied the Equalist’s hand movement this time–a single, vertical swish.

_The Stunning Spell._

_“ Protego!_” she cried, and red light bounced off the air before her–rebounding towards the Equalist, who was still processing how Korra had bested him—

He sailed through the air and landed on the ground in a heap.

Korra moved swiftly—she swished her wand again, “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

The Equalist’s limbs snapped together, and he went rigid. Korra leaned on her knee (one knee, because her injured leg felt like it was about to give out any minute), still breathing heavily. The Equalist remained motionless.

Once she’d caught her breath, Korra approached him cautiously, wand out. She stopped a few feet away from him; he gazed up at her–or so she thought, for she couldn’t actually see where his eyes were.

 _I can fix that,_ thought Korra, and began reaching for his mask–

Initially, she’d believed he was using nonverbal magic to conceal his identity.

Then, the Equalist finally spoke.

“You know, you’re a lot smarter than I expected,” he sneered. “You’re making my job a lot harder than it needs to be.”

Whoever had designed the mask had done so expertly–it appeared the golden tubes weren’t just for breathing, but voice modulation as well; the Equalist’s voice was completely distorted, completely inhuman, and Korra had no hope of guessing his identity. Still, once again, there was something uncannily familiar about his manner of speaking, something she couldn’t place–

Korra’s concentration had only slipped for a moment–she had lowered her wand only for a moment–but that was all the Equalist needed.

His hand twitched–and less than a moment later Korra had to leap out of the way of another curse. The Equalist seemed to have cast the counter-curse on himself, for he was on his feet again just as Korra got to hers.

With her new technique, Korra managed to keep up with the Equalist, countering all of his blows or at least dodging them. Unfortunately, she was still limping–her leg showed no signs of improving–and the Equalist took notice.

While Korra was squinting at his hand, trying to decipher his next attack–he feinted—quickly changing mid-spell to target her left leg–

Korra screamed.

It felt as though the Equalist had removed all the bones in her leg–and she collapsed immediately. She was losing all feeling in her limbs–the pain in her leg was so great Korra was starting to see stars–her vision went dark—

No, it was a shadow.

The Equalist was standing above Korra, gazing down at her almost—almost as if pitying her.

He knelt down beside her, reaching for her face—before grabbing her collar instead.

The Equalist yanked her up, pulling Korra close, close to his face—so close that if he wasn’t wearing a mask, Korra would be able to feel his breath on her lips–

Then he said something Korra knew was entirely deliberate.

“You’re mine now, Chosen One,” the Equalist jeered.

Only, it was in the exact same scratchy, low voice from her dream.

_What—_

The omen–it _was_ an omen! Amon—Amon was manipulating her—he had probably ordered the Equalist to say that, just to get the message across—the Equalist was trying to get in her head–there was no way he could’ve known that was from her dream–was there?

But if the omen was true, then–no, it couldn’t be—Korra was certain—and then uncertain—could Amon be nearby as well–?

Korra’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

“No!” she cried, swatting at her assailant.

Injured or not, Korra was stronger than most girls—boys, even—and the Equalist recoiled and dropped her immediately. She began crawling backwards on her elbows, eyes spiraling in all directions as though that bamboo mask would materialize before her–

Then Korra’s elbow gave out—she flailed uselessly—tears were streaming down her face–she hated herself, hated herself for letting the Equalist see her like this—

“I thought you were supposed to be brave,” the Equalist snickered. He was standing, again, and placed one hand on his hip in a manner that was somehow both effeminate and provoking. “Scared of Amon, little girl?” He tossed his head in cruel amusement. “Some Gryffindor you are.”

_How does he know that?_

“S-Shut up!” Korra cried—but it came out as a whimper.

She fumbled for her wand–it was several feet away in the grass–

“You’re pathetic,” the Equalist continued mercilessly. “The Chosen One? Please. They chose wrong. You can’t protect anyone.” Then, for a moment, it appeared as though he was somewhere distant—in another place, at another time. “You _didn’t_.”

He seemed motivated by something beyond Korra’s knowledge.

Then, the Equalist strode to Korra, stooped down so that his face was just above hers, and whispered, “Once Amon takes your magic away, you will be nothing.”

Something inside of Korra snapped.

She let out a roar, holding her hand out—her wand flew into it–

Korra began brandishing it unthinkingly, shouting, yelling—virtually screaming—incoherently.

She hadn’t actually said any incantations–hadn’t thought about what she was doing—so both she and the Equalist were astonished when magic beyond anything Korra had ever cast–or seen—spouted from her wand.

A powerful gust of wind–followed by a curtain of fire–these, the Equalist dodged, leaping and backflipping nimbly–but he wasn’t prepared for the wall of earth that rose up to greet him, and he tripped backwards over it—before a surge of water knocked him onto the ground–and then froze over, leaving him encased up to the neck in ice.

Korra stared.

Had _she_ done that?

She remained frozen for a moment, wand out, mouth agape—but there was no time to dwell on the matter, and several moments later, she found the courage–and strength–to hobble over to the Equalist once more.

After all the commotion of their battle, it felt eerily silent as Korra crossed the distance between them. There was nobody else in the clearing–they were too far from the castle for anyone to have heard–and it was nearly curfew now, nobody would be out anyway.

_Just my luck._

Korra stopped before the Equalist, pointing her wand directly at his throat.

_No more tricks. Not this time._

The Equalist gazed up at her defiantly, as though daring her to end his life.

Then, he did.

“Go ahead,” the Equalist spat. “Kill me.”

Korra balked.

“K-kill you?” She nearly lowered her wand—and then thought better of it and repositioned the entity at his throat. “Why would I _kill_ you?”

Though Korra fully intended to punish the Equalist–she’d suspected it would be done by Lin, or Tenzin, or an auror—or perhaps, a Dementor—murder had never crossed her mind.

The Equalist seemed equally as stunned by Korra’s reluctance to kill him as Korra was by his expectation for her to do so.

They stared at each other, stuck in an impossible impasse.

And then–

“Fine. Then _I’ll_ kill _you_.”

To Korra’s amazement (and disbelief), the Equalist shattered the ice–without his wand.

 _Nonverbal_ and _wandless magic!?_

He held his hand out—his wand raced into it—and then pointed the weapon at Korra.

Once again—as she had several times before—Korra sailed through the air and landed on her back. However, this time, she’d been completely unprepared—she couldn’t catch herself–

Pain shot through her spine—she felt something—several somethings—crack—breathing had become excruciating—

The Equalist approached ominously, wand out.

However, once he arrived in front of Korra, he did—

Nothing.

His hand was still outstretched, motionlessly.

The Equalist hesitated. His motivation seemed to be waning.

He seemed unable to look at Korra directly–and the longer she looked at him, the more she noticed–his hand was trembling, he seemed reluctant—

Finally, the end of his wand began to glow–however, it wasn’t green, like the Killing Curse–but white, like a Body-Bind Curse—

 _“Expelliarmus!_ ” a new voice cried.

The Equalist’s wand flew out of his hand. He looked up in alarm—

 _“Reducto!_ ”

The Equalist was propelled backwards by the sheer force of the spell, limbs flailing. He landed with a _thump_ several feet away.

Korra was starting to lose consciousness–her vision was reduced to a flurry of colors—meaningless shapes swam before her, then the world grew dark—she could only hear the crackle of spells in the distance—she tasted blood…

The newcomer waved his wand again, but before he could cast anything else, the Equalist had kicked his legs out from under him. While Korra’s savior struggled to get back onto his feet, the Equalist summoned his wand, conjured a cloud of smoke, and vanished into the Forbidden Forest.

“Blast it! Could’ve used him for questioning,” the newcomer grumbled to himself.

Then, he seemed to remember Korra, and rushed to her side.

“Oh—fuck,” he gasped once he had caught sight of her injuries.

Korra couldn’t see him—her breathing had grown uneven—and now even her hearing was growing faint—

There was a series of incantations–a series of bright flashes–and then Korra could breathe again. She felt lighter, almost having had forgotten what it felt like to exist without being in constant and immense agony.

“Thank, Merlin,” the stranger breathed when Korra’s eyes fluttered open–cognizant, for the first time. “How are you feeling, Korra?” he asked as he helped her sit up.

Korra wiggled her toes and fingers, rolled her shoulders, rotated her limbs–everything seemed functional. All except one.

“Better—much better. My leg is still bothering me, though,” she noted. Then, she squinted at the man. “Err, have we met before?”

Korra would’ve known if they had–she was gazing at an impossibly handsome man with defined features and amber eyes that would make most girls weak in the knees. His dark hair was slicked back, and something in the arc of his eyebrows made every expression roguish; Korra guessed he was somewhere in his mid-thirties.

“Oops, I’m forgetting my manners.” He smiled warmly at Korra. “My name is Iroh II, and I’m an auror.”

Korra’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

Iroh II wasn’t just an auror—he was both the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Head Auror (inheriting the position after Lin had retired ten years ago)–and most importantly, Zuko’s grandson, named after General Iroh I.

Zuko–or Lord Zuko, as he was often referred to–was the Dark Lord’s son and a critical component in Aang’s deposition of said tyrant. He was from a long line of ancient magical royalty, and though he had accepted the position of Minister of Magic out of a sense of duty to right his father’s wrongs than out of a mistaken sense of birthright, the magical community still called him ‘Lord’ out of deference. Zuko had reigned for thirty years before his daughter, Izumi, had inherited the position. She’d been in office for twenty years before retiring early, leaving Hou-Ting, the current Minister, in charge.

“W-wow, it’s nice to meet you,” Korra stammered. Iroh II was her hero, signifying all that she wished to accomplish in her lifetime–and he’d done it before reaching age forty. “I, uh, I’m Korra.” Iroh raised an eyebrow and Korra wanted to smack herself. “Right—you already knew that. Err, how do you know that, again?”

Iroh’s face grew solemn.

“Because I’m here to protect _you_ ,” he said gravely.

That could be taken one of two ways—that he was here to protect the students, or that he was here to protect Korra, specifically–and she knew which way he meant it.

She frowned. “I thought you were here to protect Hogwarts?”

Iroh blinked rapidly.

Something dawned on his face—he seemed to realize Korra didn’t know what he knew—what everyone seemed to know about her besides _her_ —and stuttered, “Y-yeah, I am. That’s what I said.”

But that wasn’t what he had said.

“So, you know that I’m the Chosen One?” Korra probed.

Iroh looked away.

“C’mon, we should get you to the hospital wing,” he said, as though Korra hadn’t spoken. “I did what I could, but it’s been years since I was a healer. We need to get your leg looked at—there must be internal damage.”

“Wait—my polar bear dog,” Korra protested, pointing at Naga, who was still unconscious. “What about her? She got hurt, too.”

“I’ll send Bumi to tend to her. Trust me, he’ll know better than any of us.”

So, Korra allowed Iroh to help her up and practically half-carry her to the hospital wing, but the subject change did little to deter her; her mind was still racing, and she had every intention to pursue the matter on her own.

Pema, who usually took weekends off to spend time with Meelo (otherwise left in his maternal grandparents’ care), had Floo’d back the moment she’d heard from Madam Chase (the weekend nurse) about the attack. She was both immensely concerned and furious that Korra had been in the hospital wing twice in one week, but she didn’t lecture her surrogate daughter nearly as much as Tenzin would have (though Pema had assured Korra that was coming–Iroh had left to inform the teachers of the incident).

Only, Tenzin wasn’t her first visitor.

“Korra! I was devastated to hear about the attack,” a voice drawled overdramatically.

 _I’m sure you were,_ Korra thought cynically to herself.

“Tarrlok,” she greeted coldly.

The Herbology professor straightened, recognizing that his theatrics would get him nowhere. He plastered on his pound shop smile and approached Korra’s bed, where she was lying with her leg suspended in a cast. Korra sat up as he neared her.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Tarrlok inquired shamelessly.

_"You mustn’t fall for Tarrlok’s cheap tricks—that man only wants power for himself, and he will stop at nothing to acquire it."_

Korra thought of her encounter near the Forbidden Forest.

_“And maybe that’s just what the Equalists want you to think—that you’re safe, and once your guard is down, they’ll strike!”_

But more than anything, she thought of what the Equalist had said to her.

 _“The Chosen One? Please. They chose wrong. You can’t protect anyone. You_ didn't. _”_

Korra met Tarrlok’s gaze determinedly.

“I’m in.”


	5. A New Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start, I just want to clarify the following (as many of you have asked):  
> Mako and Korra are close friends too, and he is one of the major characters in Legend of Korra, so please don’t read every single one of their interactions as Makorra nonsense leading up to Korrasami (although I admit there is a fair bit of that, as you’ve probably noticed). And as much as I love giving him shit for what he did in the show, I do think he’s a decent character with unexplored potential.
> 
> A foreword: Yes, I am stealing names of characters I adore from other fandoms.
> 
> Also, I’m even more jet-lagged and sleep-deprived, so I’m sorry if anything seems redundant or grammatically incorrect.

* * *

 

To say that Bolin was concerned when Korra saw him again would be a massive understatement.

“I am never letting you out of my sight ever again you are literally never allowed to travel alone we’re going everywhere together we’re now mates for life Korra of the Southern Wizarding Tribe,” he stated all in one breath.

Korra chuckled. “I appreciate that, Bolin. But what about when I have to use the loo?”

“Opal will be your guardian angel!” the Hufflepuff declared, releasing Korra momentarily to pump his fist into the air before promptly embracing her again.

He had been attached to her for the past twenty minutes and refused to let go.

After a rough night and an even shakier morning, Korra had finally been released from the hospital wing (although Pema insisted she return at the slightest sign of trouble). As far as the faculty was aware, Korra’s leg was mostly functional; however, nobody recognized the curse the Equalist had cast on her—and while there _appeared_ to be no lasting damage, Korra still found herself limping. Fortunately, she’d been excused from classes for the rest of the week.

While the staff had chastised Korra for roaming the grounds alone, they didn’t penalize her, given the fact that she’d informed a professor of her whereabouts—and technically Naga _was_ a traveling partner (the polar bear dog had made a full recovery and resumed everyday life under Bumi’s protection). Nevertheless, Korra’s carelessness didn’t go entirely unpunished, and she was left to wonder if Gryffindor had any points left at all (most of which was her doing).

To her disbelief, Raiko insisted on keeping the incident under wraps to maintain a pretense of safety. Thus, while security around the grounds had been tightened, students had no knowledge of the attack, and continued daily life unaware of their susceptibility to the Equalists; the only students who knew were the Head Girl and Head Boy.

Though Korra hadn’t received actual confirmation of this, she was certain Mako had told Bolin—who naturally told their entire friend group—as she’d been receiving mail from everyone all week (delivered courtesy of Wiggles, who doted on her just as much as Pema and Tenzin).

There was one lone letter that’d been left unopened, tossed somewhere underneath Korra’s bed with her trunk (she had no doubt it was a follow-up on his stupid task force, which she currently pretended didn’t exist).

Although Korra would never admit it to anyone (she didn’t need any more attention from the faculty, especially her surrogate parents), the fight had taken a large toll on her—psychologically, more than anything. She found little motivation to get out of bed, for the Common Room was often full of gossip about Amon and the Equalists, and the mere mention of either triggered flashbacks that reduced Korra to a violently shivering mess. Her homework, which had been steadily accumulating for the past week, lay untouched in a pile at the foot of her bed.

As usual, Korra found no reprieve while sleeping. She had yet to begin her training to counter Legilimency–and when she wasn’t plagued with visions, she was forced to relive her fight with the Equalist, crippled by nightmares of having her leg and ribs broken over and over again.

Someone had been bringing meals to her room in the meantime, and Korra had a niggling suspicion it was Mako (who, as Head Boy, was the only male student who could bypass the restrictions)—but she’d never been able to verify.

The main drawback of being a recluse was missing Quidditch practice—Korra had missed all three sessions that week; luckily, Terrace had paid her a visit the day prior and briefed her on everything.

But after spending nearly seven days sulking in the girls’ dormitory (alone with dark thoughts), Korra decided to attend that evening’s prefect meeting. It had been an impulsive decision–mostly because she’d dozed off in the afternoon after another night of poor sleep and echoes of, _“Some Gryffindor you are,”_ and, _“The Chosen One? Please. They chose wrong. You can’t protect anyone,”_ had tormented her until she’d snapped. So Korra was shocked when, without asking, Bolin had materialized in front of the Gryffindor Common Room to walk her.

Considering she hadn’t contacted her friends or left the dormitory once, his reaction was understandable.

“I’m sorry I haven’t written back, I’ve…been busy with all the homework I needed to catch up on,” Korra lied.

There was no way Bolin would handle the news of her psychological trauma well.

“No worries, mate! I’m just happy to see you.” Bolin beamed, and the sentiment was so pure that Korra had to turn her face away to hide her guilt. “You know,” he added after a moment, “if you don’t feel up to it, you don’t have to go to the meeting tonight. Nobody expects you to jump right back into action.”

 _Someone does,_ Korra thought bitterly.

But what she said was, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

The rest of the walk was spent with Bolin catching Korra up on all that she’d missed during the week (Wing and Wei had enchanted the Ancient Runes professor’s wig to repeat everything he said back to him with an exaggerated Brooklyn accent, Kai had stolen Mako’s Quidditch gloves during Friday’s practice, resulting in a wild goose chase around the castle, both on foot and in the air, and Bolin and Opal had covered Korra’s rounds for her–this part was unpleasant to hear, and only worsened her guilt).

When they arrived at the Great Hall (unoccupied save for the twenty some prefects), all heads spiraled to Korra. She didn’t necessarily have a massive presence at Hogwarts, but she _was_ the star Chaser on the Gryffindor team, and those in the same year as her would’ve noticed her week-long absence from classes. Even Mako was gazing at Korra—to her surprise—and he somehow looked simultaneously concerned and relieved to see her.

Korra gave a feeble half-smile, both grateful and slightly mortified that Bolin was slung over her. To her relief, Opal waved them over quickly and Korra used the opportunity to hide behind the couple.

Tenzin, as Deputy Headmaster, usually oversaw the prefect meetings, flanked by Lin, who had more knowledge on running a security force; both were present, and both were shocked to see Korra. Nevertheless, they didn’t make a commotion (Korra suspected that would come later—but fervently hoped not at all).

“Now that everyone is here, let’s get started,” Tenzin boomed, crossing his arms behind him importantly. “You’ve all done a wonderful job this week—we’ve only had one report of a student out of bed after curfew, but I think we’re all familiar with Kai’s blatant disregard for school rules.” A few of the prefects—mostly the Gryffindors—chuckled. “Outside of that, there’s been no other troubling news.”

Korra, Bolin, and Opal exchanged a knowing look; only they had caught the strain in Tenzin’s voice.

“The Head Boy will be in charge of your partner assignments tonight. As usual, Lin and I will be on patrol as well—contact us at once if anything seems out of place. If you have any other concerns, let one of the Heads know. Any questions?” Nobody raised their hand. “Good. Mako, you may begin.”

The two professors made their way out of the hall—but not without shooting Korra a questioning glance.

 _“Sonorus!_ All right, can everyone hear me?” Murmurs of confirmation. “We’ll be patrolling in thirteen different areas tonight: the dungeons and the kitchens, the ground floor, the first through seventh floors, and the four towers. Professor Tenzin and Professor Beifong will cover the third floor. Finn—” Korra had nearly forgotten McNamara’s given name, “and Opal–” Bolin pouted when he realized Mako would separate him from his girlfriend “—you’ll be on the first floor. Blake and Yang…”

Mako went through the designations swiftly, refusing to acknowledge any discontent with the partner assignments (especially Bolin, who was scowling at his brother with great fervor). Finally–

“Korra—”

Mako’s eyes slid up from the scroll to meet Korra’s.

Only she, James, and Madison Dahl, a seventh year Hufflepuff and Head Girl, remained. Korra figured Mako would naturally partner with his fellow Student Head, while she’d be with James.

She smiled at the fifth-year, who responded in kind–

“—you’ll be with me.”

None of the other prefects quite grasped the significance of this, but Korra felt Bolin and Opal shift beside her. They were gaping at each other with raised eyebrows, and Korra found herself mirroring the expression.

It went without saying that their entire friend group knew about Mako and Korra– _everything_ about Mako and Korra. Korra had never explicitly divulged her infatuation to anyone, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out; Bolin had recognized it at last after the whole estrangement affair. This marked the only time Mako had _ever_ given in to any sort of dispute first.

Mako looked away, rolling up the scroll. “Maddie, you all right with the ground floor?”

The Head Girl nodded and clapped James on the shoulder, who looked startled by the sudden attention.

Korra was stunned. After the third floor—which, for reasons undisclosed to the student body, was the most dangerous area to monitor—the ground floor posed the largest threat, given its proximity to the Forbidden Forest; Mako typically reserved it for himself and another seventh year.

“That’s that, then—you two take the ground. Korra, we’ll take the fifth floor.”

The fifth floor was easily the least hazardous patrol area, as it was home to the teachers’ quarters. Mako usually assigned this floor to the newer or more incompetent prefects (such as Tahno and the Slytherins, who were currently busy kicking a hackey sack).

Korra knew better than to think Mako regarded her as incompetent, and was both touched and embarrassed by the consideration.

“R-right,” she stammered, having had forgotten what it felt like to directly interact with Mako.

“You have your assignments—go on. Let me know if you have any concerns.” Bolin raised his hand. “No.”

Everyone laughed before filing out of the Great Hall, wands out.

Mako approached Korra and cleared his throat.

“ _Quietus._ Let’s get going,” he said, suddenly too timid to look at her again.

They mounted the swiveling staircase to the fifth floor, catching it in the middle of a revolution. Korra was acutely aware of how close Mako was to her as they waited.

Mako’s eyes flitted down as they began ascending the stairs.

“Is your leg all right?”

Korra was still limping and had to use all of her upper body strength to carry herself. Mako took notice and grabbed her forearm, allowing Korra to shift some of her weight to him.

“Thanks,” she said absentmindedly.

“No problem.”

Having had practically grown up together, it wasn’t a particularly noteworthy gesture—until they both realized the weight of it given the last few weeks.

Both promptly let go.  

Unable to look at each other again, the pair continued down the corridor in silence.

Korra didn’t know whether to maintain the quiet or interrupt it with prattle. Glancing at Mako, who looked like he would rather run through the Great Hall naked during a holiday feast than be here, she opted for the latter.

“I’m sorry about missing practice,” Korra began uncertainly.

The Captain glanced at her in surprise before his face softened. He lowered his eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Korra. In fact,” Mako gave a heavy sigh, as though about to partake in something incredibly excruciating, “I should be the one apologizing.”

Korra froze.

 _Did_ that _bloke really just say ‘sorry’?_

She had heard the boy beside her apologize a grand total of three times during the span of their entire friendship—and every instance had involved professors or elders, never peers.

Mako stopped beside Korra, but he kept his gaze on the floor. “I’ve…I’ve kind of been a git lately.”

Korra chuckled nervously. “You just noticed?”

Mako scowled at her, but it lasted for all of a few seconds before they both burst into laughter. It was strained, and very short-lived, but some of the tension had ebbed away with it.

“I’m sorry…I…I’ve—” Korra couldn’t quite comprehend what Mako was “—I...”

It seemed neither could he.

“Need some help, there?” Korra chanced with a grin.

They laughed again, and this time it was more natural.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I’ve been an arse,” Mako relented and Korra let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Quick—what’s the time and date? I need to record this for the _Daily Prophet_ : 'Head Arse of Hogwarts Admits to His Buffoonery.’”

“All right, that’s a bit much,” the Head Boy grumbled, and Korra’s grin widened.

Then, Mako’s expression grew solemn again, and Korra sobered.

Quietly, he continued, “I should’ve been there with you—when the…well, y’know.”

Korra knew.

“I haven’t been there enough for you lately, especially with everything going on. I’ve been…” Mako glanced down at Korra. He was looking at her in a way she’d never seen, and Korra couldn’t fathom the expression. “I’ve been working through some stuff.”

She had absolutely no foresight as to what ‘stuff’ was.  

“Um…that’s not really an excuse but,” Mako exhaled deeply, looking up at the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere on there, “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Korra didn’t doubt that–this confession brought Mako’s grand total to four apologies, and she was the only peer to have ever received one.

Part of Korra wanted to stay upset, wanted to Mako to hurt the way she had, alone, lost, without her best friend–all over some stupid, confused series of overlapping infatuations. She wanted him to hurt the way she had having her trust betrayed—her rawest fears exposed to a stranger who’d made light of it.  

Then, there was another part of her—the part of her that longed for her friend and confidant, that missed their gossip sessions with Bolin, that wanted to stay up late in the Common Room pouring over the sports section of the _Prophet_ and discussing Quidditch strategies.

Perhaps at the beginning of the semester—even a week ago—Korra would’ve demanded more from Mako, would’ve argued with him all over again and remained discontented until achieving complete and absolute triumph (which, obviously, would never come, given Mako was exactly the same).

Korra sighed.

“You know, as much as that sucked…the worst part was that you told someone I barely knew something I only felt safe enough to tell you.”

Mako grimaced and looked down again.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said again, an impressive third time. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. It—it kind of slipped out when I was telling her something else…” Mako trailed off sheepishly.

Korra arced an eyebrow. “Telling her what?”

Mako coughed uncomfortably.

He looked down, then up, at the statue of Merlin behind Korra’s head—anywhere but at Korra.

Mako had very few anxious habits, but playing with the nail of his smallest finger with his other hand was one of them, and Korra was afraid it would break at this rate.  

Then–

“I had a vision, too.”

Korra’s jaw dropped.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Her mind was racing–she wasn’t the only one—

“What’d you see?” the alleged Chosen One demanded eagerly.

She was standing up straight, wobble in her left leg all but forgotten.

“I saw the muggle-borns leaving Hogwarts,” Mako admitted. Then, his face darkened. “I was hoping it was just—I don’t know, just me getting ahead of things—but—the next day…”

Korra nodded.

She knew the feeling all too well, and a memory of the Equalist attack—mostly, his verbal reminder—sent a chill through her.

“There was more to it—I saw student protests, riots all over England…And then you told me about your dreams, I…I really wanted it to not be true,” Mako muttered almost inaudibly. “I haven’t seen any more since that one night, but if part of that dream came true, then the rest…”

His usual stoicism had been replaced by unprecedented trepidation, and he once again looked much smaller and younger than his stature suggested. 

“I…if your dreams are true—if there is some prophecy, if you _are_ the Chosen One—then I understand why you’d have these visions, but I don’t know why someone like _me_ would see these things—”

“Legilimency,” Korra said automatically, without thinking.

Mako froze.

Unlike Korra, he was clearly familiar with the subject—the blood drained from his face.

“Mind manipulation?” Mako asked, not as though uncertain to the meaning of the word but uncertain that it was actually possible—and happening.

“That’s what Tenzin said.” Korra paused. “He…he reckons Amon might be trying to manipulate me.”

Mako raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re the Chosen One?”

Korra let out a frustrated groan. “That’s what I asked! He wouldn’t tell me!”

Mako frowned.

He looked considerably paler, if that was possible.

Korra’s shoulders dropped, momentary ire gone; she glanced at Mako anxiously.

“If he’s targeting you too, it might be because you’re close to me,” she said slowly, gauging his reaction to this information.

Mako handled it better than expected.

He nodded matter-of-factly, though he still looked white as a sheet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Korra hung her head in guilt. “I’m sorry—this is my fault.”

This seemed to rouse Mako, who straightened and shook his head.

“No, none of this is your fault. It’s not like you asked for this—you don’t even know what any of this is.” He squeezed Korra’s shoulder comfortingly. “We’ll figure this out together. I promise.”

Korra gazed up at Mako, who gave her an encouraging smile.

Her heart swelled. The weight on her shoulders had nearly evaporated; fear, along with undefined responsibility, lingered, certainly, but for the first time in weeks, Korra felt that she could handle it.

“Thanks, Mako,” she said softly.

The Head Boy beamed.

“We’re here for you, Korra.”

He released her, and they resumed patrolling–silence amicable this time.

Then, for the third time that night, Mako shocked Korra again.

“I should probably apologize for one more thing,” he began with another expression that suggested herculean effort.

Korra glanced at him questioningly.

“I’m sorry for not believing you—about your dream. I just…y’know, now that I know these aren’t _just_ dreams—I don’t…I don’t want to think I’m dating an Equalist.”

Something in Korra stirred—something twanged in her chest, something churned in her stomach—but the sentiment wasn’t entirely unrelatable. She, too, despite herself, wanted to accept Asami’s company; she, too, wanted to believe that the few moments they’d shared were genuine, and all those moments in between–those dark and unknowable–those were just a product of misplaced jealousy (or some other more benign misconception than the one hanging over their heads, threatening to combust and swallow them whole).

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Korra confessed. “A-about the attack.”

The stutter didn’t escape Mako, and his hand returned to her shoulder.

Korra took a deep breath. “W-what I thought was Asami in my dream—the things she said—the things Amon said–the Equalist said them. But Asami and Amon weren’t there.”

Mako detected the trace of hope in her voice and completed the thought. “So, there’s a chance your vision wasn’t really about Asami?”

Korra paused, and then nodded. “Maybe…maybe Amon is just messing with my head. If he knows about you then he—” Korra blushed “—he’s probably using my…insecurities against me.”

The choice of words wasn’t lost on Mako, but he was gracious in not acknowledging them aloud.

“I really hope that’s true.”

Korra couldn’t help but agree.

“So, err, not to jump the gun but—but does this mean we’re okay?” Mako inquired tentatively as they turned the corner.

Korra rubbed her arm. “I suppose. I’m still mad at you—” Mako’s face fell “—but we’re stuck together, aren’t we?”

Some of the color returned to the Head Boy’s face. He heaved a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, you’re stuck with me. Us,” he added as an afterthought.

There was more to that statement, and Korra knew. She wondered who ‘us’ referred to—Bolin, probably—and?

Mako was playing with his pinky again.

“Err, I know you’re not… _fond_ of my girlfriend—” Korra despised that term; she would much rather just hear Asami’s name “—but…maybe we could all…hang out, sometime?” 

The request was familiar—the wording almost identical to that of his partner’s on the first day of school (an eternity ago).

Part of Korra wanted to insist they keep the group as it was—the three of them, and at large, the Beifongs, Tu, Tenzin’s children, the Gryffindor Quidditch team—and she knew Mako would relent this time, for once. And–

And part of her still feared Asami.

Asami was the biggest unknown in this game of chess against Amon–a game Korra didn’t know she was a participant in until now—

But the allure of going back to what was—being able to converse with the brothers without tension, without censure—that, that was more powerful than any fear could hope to be.

“I’ll try,” Korra conceded.

This was more than enough for Mako, who looked as if he’d just been asked to play for the England Quidditch Team.

“Thanks, Korra.”

He flashed her a brilliant smile–one that both reassured her and made her heart ache.

“Don’t mention it.”

 

* * *

 

Reunited, to everyone’s relief—especially Bolin’s—the trio walked to class together the following morning. Mako and Bolin insisted on dropping Korra off first, and though embarrassed, she didn’t have the heart to protest.

Korra had barely entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom when she was engulfed in a fierce embrace—or a tangle of too many limbs, more accurately.

“Korra!” the Beifong twins chorused.

“Where the bloody hell were you–”

“Couldn’t have at least said ‘hello’—”

“We were so worried–”

“Are you all right–”

“You missed Quidditch practice—”

“Mako’s panties were in a bunch—”

“Kai made us ruddy proud—”

Korra burst into laughter.

Heart lighter than it had been in a week, she replied, “I’m sorry, I’m fine. I promise.” It was a half-truth. “I’ve been cooped up in the dorms like a hermit—but I’m doing better. You’ll see me at Quidditch practice from now on.”

Before the conversation could go any further, a loud _crack_ sent the trio flying across the classroom and into their seats without any effort on their part.

Lin smoothened her robes and tucked her wand away. “Good morning, you three.”

Korra knew ‘you three’ was a guise for addressing her—a sort of ‘welcome back’ without drawing too much attention, and she was grateful for the professor’s consideration.

Lin gave Korra a rare smile, and the Gryffindor found that it was unexpectedly pretty.

The Head of House turned her attention back to the class. “Now then, for those of you paying attention, that’s what we’ll be practicing today.”

“Launching our nephews across classrooms?” Wei, who had landed upside down, grumbled as he sat up, nursing a red nose.

Lin didn’t look amused.

“Nonverbal magic.”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the class. Everyone exchanged gleeful looks with each other—all except Korra, who sank down further in her seat.

Lin’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, but Korra shook her head subtly.

 _I can handle it,_ she wanted to say, and Lin seemed to have understood, for she continued with her lecture.

“Which one of us do you want to partner with?” Wing whispered to Korra as Lin explained the mechanics of the difficult technique.

“You can choose—you can even have Wing, if you want. I don’t mind dealing with McNamara for today,” Wei offered, and Korra was both moved and awed by his generosity.

Then, her gaze fell on someone a few seats away—someone who looked unusually dismal, fiddling with the edge of her parchment.

 _It’s still blank,_ Korra realized with a jolt.

Asami’s quill, which was usually moving a mile a minute—copying Lin’s lecture verbatim—lay untouched on her desk.

“The type of wand you wield will impact your ability to cast nonverbal spells,” Lin droned from the front of the classroom. “Those of you with dogwood wands may have a nasty time with this assignment.”

“Bollocks,” Wei cursed under his breath.

“Alder wands—though, I doubt any of you would be familiar with one—are the best suited for nonverbal magic. All right, I think that’s everything—partner up. We’ll be starting off light, just Shield and Disarming Charms for today.”

There was a scratch of chairs being pulled back against the hardwood floor as students flocked to find partners.

The twins were still staring expectantly at Korra, who was looking elsewhere.

Her gaze hadn’t left Asami.

From the corner of her eye, Korra noticed that Lin looked pleased by her consideration.

 _Right._ That.

She was once again at odds with what was expected of her—hounded by echoes of both Mako’s and Lin’s requests—and didn’t know what to expect of herself.

Giving in to some odd combination of the two, Korra got to her feet reluctantly.

“Why don’t you two partner with each other, today?” she proposed half-heartedly.

Wing and Wei exchanged a puzzled look, but Korra was already crossing the classroom—

 _I said I would try_ , she thought to herself, and tapped Asami on the shoulder.

The Ravenclaw jumped before looking up at Korra in surprise.

“Wanna work with me?”

Asami’s eyes widened in shock.

It had been nearly a full three weeks since they’d partnered with each other, and at least two since they’d had any real interaction (outside of the Quidditch incident).

There was another emotion there, in Asami’s gaze—but it vanished before Korra could decipher it—and then the heiress’s face softened.

She nodded timidly.

As the pair walked to the corner of the room, Asami’s eyes flitted down to Korra’s leg.

“Are you all right?” Asami’s voice was gentle–and heavy, with something Korra didn’t recognize. “You’re limping.”

Korra flinched. She recovered quickly, but the reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Asami, who lowered her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Is this why you haven’t been in class?” Asami asked quietly.

“Y-yeah. It was a Quidditch accident,” Korra lied.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than did Korra realize Asami would see through them with ease.

A loyal significant other, Asami always attended Gryffindor’s evening Quidditch practices; there was no doubt she knew of Korra’s absence.

To Korra’s bewilderment, the heiress didn’t call her out on it.

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence, both keenly aware of what they each refused to acknowledge aloud for the other’s sake—though, Korra had a feeling there was something Asami knew that she didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Asami said finally.

But she sounded sorrier than she should.

“It’s okay. How about we get started?” Korra suggested weakly.

“All right,” the Ravenclaw agreed, to Korra’s relief.

“D’you want to shield or disarm, first?”

“Shield,” Asami said, a little too hastily.

Korra had only been half-listening to Lin’s lecture, but she knew enough about how nonverbal magic worked. She drew her wand, and Asami mirrored her.

Nonverbal magic required a great deal of concentration—which might’ve come easier to Korra a month ago. With all the noise in her head as of late, it took the Gryffindor several moments to collect herself.

Asami, who had tied her hair up in a messy bun in preparation for the assignment, still somehow managed to look radiant as she waited.

She looked distracted, Korra noticed.

The Gryffindor took a deep breath, concentrating on the aura pulsating at her fingertips; her wand whirred impatiently, as though demanding an order from its master.

Finally–

 _Expelliarmus!_ Korra thought fiercely, brandishing her wand.

She’d done what she usually did to cast the spell—but was greeted with nothing but scarlet sparks.

The rest of the class seemed to be struggling as well, and most wore expressions identical to those of constipation.

“Not bad,” Asami commented.

Korra frowned. “I barely did anything.”

Her partner shrugged. “It was good for your first time—no one else even produced sparks.”

This much was reassuring, but Korra was still annoyed at herself.

“Yeah, I guess. Mind if I go again?”

Asami’s confidence in her was unexpectedly empowering; Korra found her resolve stronger this time, and focused all of her energy on her wand movement.

_Expelliarmus!_

There was a burst of scarlet–it was much, much weaker than usual—but it was something, and it hurtled at the Ravenclaw standing across from her—

Asami deflected the spell effortlessly.

Korra had seen Asami perform nonverbal magic before—but not like this.

The Gryffindor’s jaw dropped, and a startled expression crossed her partner’s face.

Asami looked as though she’d done something she hadn’t intended to, but quickly brushed it off. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“You’re not new to this, are you?” Korra asked warily.

Lin’s warning echoed in her head, triggering another mental war Korra attempted to ignore. (It wouldn’t be the first war she’d ignored.)

Asami hesitated before shaking her head in resignation.

“No, I’m not. O.W.L.s in America are harder than they are here. We need to be able to cast at least a few nonverbal spells to get an ‘O’ in Defense Against the Dark Arts—and my dad wouldn’t stand for anything less than a perfect O.W.L. report,” she replied.

 _I’ll bite_ , thought Korra, who desperately wished for fewer enemies.

Asami’s face had darkened at the mention of her father, and though Korra identified with the sentiment, she was mildly disconcerted by what implications that held for the heiress. Uncertain as to how to respond appropriately, the Gryffindor decided to lighten the mood instead.

“Are you saying America is better than England?” Korra teased.

Fortunately, it worked.

Asami’s eyes lit up mischievously at this. She smirked.

“Maybe.”

Korra grinned. “We’ll see about that. How about we switch sides?”

Asami’s smile grew strained.

“O-okay,” she agreed, after a moment.

The reaction troubled Korra, but—respecting Asami’s earlier courtesy towards her—she decided against pursuing the matter.

Korra squared her shoulders, leaning on her right leg to widen her stance. She was a little nervous herself, admittedly, as offensive spells came easier to her than defensive ones.

Asami’s face changed this time—she had taken on the class’s expression of great concentration.

“Ready?” the Ravenclaw inquired.

It sounded more like she was asking herself, thought Korra.

“Yeah—go on, then.”

Asami took a deep breath and swished her wand.

Initially, Korra hadn’t been expecting much; even if Asami was exceptionally gifted, the struggle around them was telling—

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of scarlet erupted from the tip of Asami’s wand–

Korra stumbled backwards in shock—she wasn’t ready—hadn’t expected it to be that strong—

_Prote—_

The spell hit Korra square in the chest—it wasn’t devastating, but enough to send the Gryffindor reeling into the wall behind her. Korra’s wand flew out of her hand—the back of her head collided against the hard surface with a _thud_ —her vision grew blurry for a moment—

Asami’s worried face—mingled with something like guilt—swam before her—a flicker of blue, but Korra wasn’t sure if it was real or a product of her disorientation.

She’d sustained much more serious injuries at the hands of Bludgers—but it was an unwelcome reminder of the incident a week prior, and Korra found herself more mentally drained than anything as she crumpled to the floor.

“Korra!”

Lin was at her side in an instant.

Korra barely had time to register the dull pain in her head before a pair of strong arms hoisted her up.

“You all right, kid? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”

“N-no, I’m f-fine,” Korra stuttered, blanching at the prospect of being scolded by Pema again.

Of all the lies she’d told, this was perhaps the least convincing.

“Sato!” Lin barked. “Be careful! Ten points from Ravenclaw!”

Lin’s partiality, which was usually well disguised, had surfaced; students were injured during N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts quite frequently—if not every day—and the professor hardly batted an eye. (It was undoubtedly owing to Korra’s circumstances, but that did little to assuage her mortification.)

The class had gone silent, all eyes on Korra. The Gryffindor faltered and shrugged out of Lin’s grasp shakily.

“I’m fine,” Korra insisted. Her mouth was moving of its own accord. “Asami was just doing what she was told.”

_Why do I always end up defending her?_

To her immense disbelief, when Korra stood again, her left leg no longer hurt.

 _Was it the impact of the crash?_ she wondered, walking—not limping—back to her partner slowly, afraid her leg would give away any moment.

It didn’t.

Lin narrowed her eyes at Asami, who looked stricken.

“Fine. Watch yourself, Sato.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Asami replied meekly.

Lin turned her gaze on Korra. “You can stop here for today, if you wish.”

Profoundly aware of the attention on her, Korra shook her head adamantly. (She immediately regretted it—greeted with acute throbbing—but feigned soundness.)

“I’ll manage.”

Lin hesitated for a moment before nodding. She walked away briskly, leaving an air of disquiet behind her.

Asami reached out to pat Korra’s shoulder apologetically; her fingers were trembling, barely touching Korra, leaving the Gryffindor to wonder who was more traumatized.

“I-I’m really, really sorry,” the Ravenclaw stammered. “I was trying to be gentle.”

She wouldn’t look at Korra.

Korra blinked. “If that was you being gentle, I hope I never have to face you in a duel.”

Asami, whose fingertips were only just grazing Korra’s shoulder, retracted her hand as if electrocuted.

“Me too.”

Gradually, the students around them lost interest in the affair and returned their attention to the assignment at hand.

Despite the ache in her head, Korra pitied Asami. The Ravenclaw looked like a kicked puppy, and nothing in her body language suggested that the sentiment was ingenuine.

_She makes it impossible to hold a grudge, doesn’t she?_

Korra nudged the heiress’s shoulder with her own. “You were right.”

Asami, who was half a head taller than Korra, glanced at down at her in bemusement.

“I guess you Americans are better than us Brits,” Korra reminded her with a cheeky grin before gagging. “Ugh—I never thought I’d have to hear myself say that.”

This cracked Asami’s self-deprecating panoply. The Ravenclaw gave Korra a small smile.

She reached out again before stopping herself, hand hovering just behind Korra’s head.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine,” Korra repeated like a mantra (at this point, it was).

It wasn’t a complete lie.

Asami looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? Do you want to sit down?”

Learning from her previous mistake, Korra answered verbally instead. “No, I’ll be okay—don’t worry. Let’s keep going.” After a beat, “Do you mind just shielding instead?”

Asami looked relieved.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

They reassumed their sparring positions—and Korra’s eyes fell on Asami’s wand. The question that’d been pestering her since Lin had introduced the lesson rose to the forefront of her mind again, and she couldn’t ignore it this time.

“Sorry, I’m curious—what kind of wand do you use?”

Asami, who was crouching down in a defensive stance, straightened immediately. Apparently, she hadn’t been expecting that inquiry.

“Uh…” Asami’s eyes flitted between her wand and Korra, as though that would somehow telepathically transmit the answer to the Gryffindor. She seemed torn.

“It’s…it’s an alder wand,” the taller girl admitted, at last. “Phoenix feather.”

Korra’s eyes widened.

She wasn’t the most well-versed on wandlore—but she knew that only the most advanced witches and wizards could use alder wands properly. Garrick Ollivander, the nation’s most renowned wandmaker, had once claimed that a wizard who wielded an alder wand paired with a phoenix feather core would “make their mark on the world.”

“Wow…not bad,” the Gryffindor echoed with an impish smirk.

Asami looked as if she’d been struck by a disarming spell. After a moment, she returned the gesture, though she still looked somewhat flustered.

“What about you?”

Korra glanced down at her wand. “Err—holly. I think. Uh…dragonstring?”

Asami looked amused by this—both by Korra’s ignorance and the information.

“That suits you,” she chuckled.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Asami grinned at her mysteriously but didn’t elaborate.  

As they continued sparring, Korra couldn’t help but feel as though she’d done this before.

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed in a blur; between Quidditch practice, making up homework, prefect duty, and—regrettably—recruiting for Tarrlok’s task force, Korra found herself without time to adequately address her psychological adversities. To make matters worse, she hadn’t gathered the courage to tell Tenzin about joining the task force yet (didn’t know if she ever would), which left their one-on-one lessons even more unbearable than usual.

October came before Korra was fully prepared to meet it, and she found herself alone on the astronomy tower on the first Sunday night of the month.

 _Shit, there’s no class today,_ Korra realized after waiting for well over half an hour.

Groaning, she hoisted herself to her feet and began gathering her things. She’d just opened the door to the staircase when—

“Oof! There’s no class today,” Korra said stupidly, still disoriented, before she recognized the person before her. “Asami?”

To Korra’s horror, the heiress looked like she’d been crying.

_Oh Merlin, I am not prepared to deal with this right now._

Clearly, Asami had not come up here expecting class.

The other girl regarded Korra with an arced brow. As usual, even with swollen eyelids, she still looked elegant.

“You came up here because you thought we had class?”

Korra blushed.

“Err…no?”

Where, under normal circumstances, there would’ve been amusement, there was indifference.

Asami sighed impatiently.

“Okay, well—now you know we don’t.”

She shrugged past Korra, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. In the faint moonlight, Asami was stunning—a work of art, like some contemporary depiction of human suffering, some porcelain vase shattered beyond repair, bound together only by the gossamery fragments of what remained.

Korra hesitated by the stairwell, one hand on the strap of her telescope, the other slightly outstretched towards the spot Asami had just vacated. She glanced over her shoulder.

Asami was sitting on the very edge of the tower, legs dangling over a gap between crenellations—another masterpiece, chiaroscuro under the cinerescent sky, painted ethereal.

It was a painting Korra doubted had a happy ending.

“Err…do you want to talk about it?” she asked half-heartedly, readjusting the telescope on her shoulder, not entirely sure what ‘it’ was herself.

“No,” Asami snapped, with an astonishing amount of vigor for someone who was crying. “Just—just leave me alone, Korra.”

Her response reminded Korra oddly of herself—of all her insincere reassurances of being fine—and the Gryffindor found her desire to leave waning.

It was an intricate situation, Korra knew, to be in that much agony and reject consolation; it was an inherent response, when the concern was something one feared wouldn’t be received well—when in fact, it wasn’t well received by oneself, and that made the weight of it all the more unbearable—

Especially alone.

_"We’re here for you, Korra.”_

Korra gazed at Asami, a slight, trembling figure in the distance.

_But who’s here for her?_

Despite all the time they spent together, it was questionable whether Asami and Mako shared any real intimacy; it required a great deal of time and effort to extract that from Mako, who would only give in begrudgingly, at best. Moreover, his ability to detect others’ vulnerability was even worse than his capacity to offer his own.

Korra sighed.

_I said I would try._

Asami only just seemed to have realized that Korra was still present.

“Korra, I said–”

“No.”

Asami’s head whipped around.

“What?”

Korra stomped over to the heiress.

Asami gazed up at her in shock, eyes still wet.

“No,” Korra repeated firmly before dropping down beside the other girl.

She took her telescope off her shoulder and set it in her lap, crossing her arms stubbornly.

Asami gawked.

The Ravenclaw’s eyes were wide with disbelief, but Korra refused to make eye contact, gazing at the horizon instead.

“We have to travel in partners, remember?” she said.

They both knew that wasn’t why she’d stayed.

“I’m a prefect, I can’t just leave you out here by yourself. It’s dangerous,” Korra continued, anyway.

 Asami scoffed.

“I’m a muggle-born,” she retorted darkly.

There was a measured bitterness to the claim—a double-edged sword, a foe that would send most running.

Korra unfolded her arms, unfazed, opting to lean back against them. “Okay, then you can protect me.”

Asami stared at her.

Silence stretched between them.

Korra still wouldn’t look at Asami, worried that her resolve would waver should she encounter too much resistance.

She looked up.

The moon was dark tonight, Korra noted. Only a shred of light—a new moon.

She didn’t remember what that meant.

Then—

Asami laughed. It was short, husky, and it relieved some of Korra’s uncertainty.

She chanced a glance at the heiress, who was looking down. She was smiling.

Korra looked away again, smiling to herself.

“I’m sorry,” Asami said a moment later. She was still staring at her shoes—heels—crossed over one another. The sight was much more welcome than the one before: dangling over the edge with the barest threat of premature demise.

“It’s all right—I get it. I’m weird about people when I’m upset, too.”

Asami shook her head. “No—not that. Though, I am sorry about that, too.”

Korra glanced sideways at her. “Then?”

Asami tensed. She wore an expression not unlike the one Mako had while apologizing.

After a moment, the heiress lowered her arms.

“For a lot of things,” she admitted.

Korra raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Asami stole a glance at her before sighing, fiddling with her fingers.

“About what I said. About your dream.” Asami’s voice was thick with unmistakable guilt. “I—I had no right to tease you about that. That was…wrong.”

Korra noticed that Asami wrung her fingers together, interweaved them, twisted her wrists, and then repeated the movements—over and over again, like a nervous tick. It was obviously an old habit—an unconscious one—and that left Korra to wonder how and when the heiress had developed it.

“I thought we were going to become friends but I…I really fucked that one up, didn’t I?” Asami chuckled mirthlessly.

Korra was alarmed to hear the Ravenclaw curse. The word fell off her lips heavily, although it wasn’t entirely unbecoming; it was perhaps one of her more honest moments, and that was becoming in itself.

The prefect rubbed the back of her neck.

It was a lot harder to hold a grudge against Asami than it was to hold one against Mako—those closest to you wound deepest and all that. Moreover, despite what she didn’t know, despite the heiress’s undeniable cunning, which outclassed that of anyone Korra had ever met (perhaps even Tarrlok)—there was still this rawness to her, a self-deprecating sort of honesty, something Korra valued more than her own sense of self-preservation.

Also—from Asami’s perspective, Korra’s behavior probably didn’t make a lot of sense.

“I—”

“I’m not done, yet,” Asami cut her off.

Startled, Korra fell silent.

Asami took a deep breath. Her hands stilled, and she looked down at them remorsefully.

“I…hurt you.”

Korra tilted her head.

The way Asami said it—it wasn’t inaccurate—but it carried a lot more weight than what her actions merited.

“I…” Asami’s voice shook, and she looked away.

She seemed unable to continue.

“You?” Korra pressed gently.

Asami remained quiet for a moment.

Then–

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Korra blinked.

She hadn’t expected to ever have this conversation with Asami, considering she avoided having it with herself.

“Err…I dunno. I don’t have a reason to be unkind to you, do I?”

Asami looked pained.

“I…”

The heiress seemed to be searching for a justification as to exactly why Korra should be unkind to her.

“You like Mako,” she pointed out, finally.

Korra flinched.

_Maybe she does understand._

The Gryffindor nodded slowly.

“I…I’m dating him.”

Korra nodded again.

“I took him away from you.”

Korra rubbed her shoulder uncomfortably. “I mean, not intentionally—but, yeah, I guess.”

“I hurt you,” Asami repeated. “So, why did you protect me?”

Korra’s left hand twitched.

“It just seemed like the right thing to do. I don’t think I would feel good knowing you got hurt because I didn’t do anything.”

That wasn’t the answer Asami had been expecting.

“But I… _hurt you_ ,” Asami said, again, as if repeating herself enough times would change Korra’s perspective. “I hurt you—I made fun of you—and you protected me. More than once,” she added, as though Korra had forgotten.

The Gryffindor sighed.

“Look, just because you hurt me doesn’t mean I want to hurt you.” 

The silence that followed was deafening.

When it stretched into insufferable, Korra glanced at the girl beside her.

Asami looked as though Korra had proposed a new world order—perhaps she had—for the heiress seemed to have lost her voice.

Several moments passed before she gathered herself enough to speak.

“Why not?” Asami demanded.

The heiress had whispered, but the question seemed to echo into the night; there was a surprising quality of severity to it given how quiet her voice was.

Korra frowned. “I don’t really know how to answer that. I mean, it’s a bit corny—no, it’s really corny—but—y’know, the whole ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’ thing? I suppose I actually believe that.”

Asami looked stunned.

 _Is it that weird?_ Korra wondered.

After a moment, the Ravenclaw laughed to herself.

“If it was anyone but you, I wouldn’t believe it.”

Korra didn’t know what to say to that.

Instead, she said, “We’re better than fighting over boys, aren’t we?”

For the first time that night, Asami looked genuinely relieved. 

“Yeah. We are.”

Asami smiled at Korra.

This time, Korra smiled back.

Something warm settled between them, and Korra was vaguely reminded of Amortentia.

A pause. Stillness.

Then Korra glanced at Asami, again.

Although the Ravenclaw looked remarkably better, there was still an air of unease about her; she looked small, apprehensive—like a consoled child, but one that had been distracted rather than pacified.

“You don’t have to—but, if you want to talk, I’m a good listener,” Korra piped up. “It’s up to you, though.”

Asami froze.

Then, the corner of her lips twitched. “You realize you basically repeated yourself, right?”

Korra chuckled nervously. “Yeah—good listener, bad talker. I…I was kind of homeschooled, I guess,” _if you can call it that_ , “before I came to Hogwarts, so I’m…socially challenged.”

_Smooth._

Asami smirked, but she didn’t say anything.

“Strict parents?” she asked.

Korra nodded feverishly. “You have no idea—my dad—he’s like a hawk. Never let me do anything by myself growing up. Before Hogwarts, I’d never left the tribe. In fact, if Tenzin hadn’t convinced my dad that he would watch over me, I’d still be stuck in the South Pole.”

Korra didn’t know if she should be telling Asami—Asami, who Lin still suspected—Asami, who even Mako wasn’t entirely sure of—any of this, but there was something in her smile, something soft and reassuring and completely disarming. Korra’s mouth had moved of its own accord once again, and she found little incentive to stop it.

“Yeah, I…I get that. I…I think that’s kind of my problem too,” Asami confessed. “My dad…”

She trailed off, and Korra was unsurprised to discover that Hiroshi was the root of Asami’s emotional turmoil.

“He raised me to believe…certain things. Like, really conservative things.” Korra didn’t doubt that, recalling Hiroshi’s disdain for her resentfully. “And I believed him, for a really long time, too. But…” Asami glanced at Korra meaningfully—though the significance was lost on her. “I don’t know if I agree with him anymore.”

Korra nodded sympathetically.

“Did you…did you fight with him before coming up here?” she chanced carefully.

Asami grimaced.

“Something like that.” She exhaled deeply. “I think…the _idea_ of our beliefs was a lot easier to swallow than the reality of it. It made so much sense in theory but…it’s…it’s not the way I pictured it at all.” Asami swallowed thickly. “I’m starting to question if we—if he’s really right.”

Korra listened without interrupting.

“We fought because I told him I was having doubts…he didn’t like that very much. But I tell him everything, I’ve never—” Asami’s eyes began to water again “—I’ve never kept anything from him. Ever since my mom—” her fingers curled against her thighs, bunching up her robes “—he’s all I have left…”

Korra didn’t know what to do, so she placed a hand on Asami’s shoulder.

Asami jumped at the contact, and Korra wondered if she’d acted too rashly, but the heiress didn’t protest; she seemed too preoccupied with not crying.

“It’s okay,” Korra said softly, squeezing Asami’s shoulder.

She didn’t have to clarify what. After a few more moments of futile resistance, tears rolled down the heiress’s face.

If she wasn’t crying so obviously, Korra could’ve pretended not to see—it was dark enough—but there was no hiding it. So Korra didn’t pretend, and rubbed Asami’s shoulder soothingly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Asami whispered. Her eyes were closed, as if not seeing the situation would make it unreal. “I feel like he’s forcing me to do something I don’t know if I identify with. I don’t know if I should just…ignore my conscience and listen to him, because he’s my dad, or do what I think is right—I don’t even know if it’s _right_ , I just…everything feels wrong.”

Korra was no stranger to the feeling—coming to Hogwarts, telling her friends about her visions—this very moment—they were all risks she’d deliberated heavily with no solution in sight. The answers she’d found, she still doubted.

The Gryffindor struggled to find her voice for a moment.

“It doesn’t matter what your dad thinks,” Korra said at last.

Asami looked at her in surprise.

“You might not be able to—no, you probably _can’t_ make him see things your way,” Korra corrected herself. “But this isn’t about him, it’s about you. Honestly, I can’t tell you what to do. You need to figure out what you believe for yourself, whatever that is. Even it ends up being what he thinks is wrong—even if _everyone_ tells you it’s wrong—if you believe in it, then it’s right—because it’s what right for _you_.”

Once again, she seemed to have rendered Asami speechless.

They were enveloped in thoughtful silence—one that left Korra uncertain as to whether Asami had accepted her counsel or resented her for it.

Asami had an unsettling quality of unraveling Korra; she always over-spoke around the heiress, said too much, meant too much–and didn’t know why she cared.

Finally–

Asami laughed softly.

“You always have a way of making me see things differently.”


	6. Elemental Magic

The divination classroom was exactly as Korra remembered it–sweltering, and something like a bohemian tea shop where “free spirits” would gather to consume illicit substances. (Given the musky smell, she suspected Kya engaged in said activity.)

The divination professor herself was the personification of spirituality, much more laidback than both of her siblings; with her long, painted nails and endless accessories (that probably went against school regulations), Kya embodied all that one would expect from a gypsy.

“Codswallop! Hou-Ting is acting like a Blibbering Humdinger—"

“When in her life or career has she ever been rational?”

“But this is a national crisis—we’re on the brink of war, and she doesn’t want to ‘waste resources on a muggle cause’? That’s just going to divide the community even more–”

“Why do you think I retired the moment that woman came into office? There’s no getting through to a tyrant like her.”

“What do you think the odds are that we can convince Izumi to come out of retirement?”

“Have you _seen_ her husband? With a studmuffin like that, I’d say nil.”

The two women burst into laughter.

Korra, who’d been trying to remain quiet out of respect, gagged at the unfortunate occasion of Lin Beifong expressing lust.

Both professors fell silent, turning to Korra, whose head was peeking out of the circular trapdoor.

“Err, hello there,” she greeted weakly.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Gryffindor!” A broad smile had spread across Kya’s face. Her hair—wavy and graying—sat upon her head in an ostentatious bun; it seemed to correspond to her enthusiasm, bobbing as she spoke. “It’s good to see you! How have you been?”

_Awful._

“Not bad.”

“That’s good—I was worried sick after I heard what happened. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Kya was sitting on the edge of her desk, legs folded over one another, while Lin was leaning on it with her elbows; both were gazing at Korra uneasily, as though expecting her to keel over and die any moment.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Korra answered, climbing into the classroom and shutting the trapdoor behind her.

Lin rolled her eyes. “That’s all you’re going to get out of her, Kya.”

“Hey, if she doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Kya countered with a dismissive wave of her hand. She returned her attention to Korra. “I’ve missed you in class—it’s too bad you got an ‘A’ on your O.W.L.”

 _Yep, that’s totally the only reason I dropped Divination_.

Korra grinned awkwardly, “Yeah, that’s too bad.” She added a (unconvincing) laugh for good measure.

“So, what brings you to these parts?” Kya asked as Korra approached the desk.

“Err, Tenzin told me to come see you.”

_Like almost two weeks ago._

Kya shot Lin a bewildered look, seeking confirmation. The latter had nothing to offer. “My little brother did?”

There was nothing little about Tenzin.

“Yeah. I, uh…”

This was precisely why Korra had avoided this conversation for so long—once she told Kya, it would become a real situation, a real threat, and flouting it as a silly abstraction was what had been keeping Korra afloat.

“I…I need some help deciphering some—” _here goes nothing_ “—visions.”

Both women straightened immediately.

Clearly alarmed, Kya demanded, “Are you sure that they—whatever you’ve seen—are visions? That’s a very serious claim, Korra.”

Korra hesitated before nodding shortly. “I think so. Basically…”

The professors’ expressions only continued to deteriorate as Korra explained to them what she had to their colleague two weeks prior. (This marked the only time Korra had ever seen Kya distressed.)

The Divination professor was very pale by the time Korra had finished. “You said Mako’s dream came true?”

Korra nodded. “Part of it, at least. The rest was in the future, so we don’t know about that yet…”

Lin grabbed Korra’s shoulder urgently.

“What else did you see? Besides the attack. That—that does sound like Legilimency,” she glanced at Kya for verification, and when the other nodded, continued, “but beyond manipulating you, Amon might actually be sending a message. We could learn something about his plans.”

_Amon’s thumb made contact with Lin’s forehead, and then nothing–_

Korra flinched violently.

“S-some people getting their magic taken away,” Korra replied, unable to look at Lin directly. “There were other things—attacks, raids—I can’t remember clearly now, but I know he’s looking for some—someone…”

Recalling Lin’s initial reaction to the ‘Chosen One’ matter, Korra decided to broach the subject carefully.

“Um…so…do you think they’re visions?”

Kya, who, at this point, resembled the House ghosts, nodded slowly. “The first one you mentioned—I don’t doubt that was just a taste of Amon’s manipulation. The rest, however…they sound like omens. Amon seems to be communicating with you directly. But eye contact is often necessary for Legilimency, I’m not entirely sure how he’s reached you. He’s powerful, that’s for certain—the Dark Lord was a powerful Legilimens in his day, so it’s not entirely unheard of. Still, it’s peculiar…perhaps there’s some sort of connection between you two?”

Korra suddenly felt sick.

Grabbing the desk for support, she pressed on shakily, “T-there’s one more thing I want to ask.”

“Yes?”

Korra bit her lip. She would have to word this judiciously in order to successfully extract the information she wanted.

“Has there…has there ever been a prophecy in the wizarding world? Like, not that rubbish in _Divination Weekly_ —but a real one?”

Kya frowned.

“Well, actually, yes.” Korra’s heart began hammering against her chest, and it took a herculean amount of effort to contain herself. “It was more than a hundred years ago, though.”

Korra’s heart fell.

Trying to hide her disappointment, she inquired, “D-d’you happen to know what it was?”

Mild amusement flickered on Kya’s face. “Well, considering it was about my father, yes I do happen to know it.”

_No way—_

“It was about _Aang_?”

Kya nodded. “You have no idea how many times my mum recited it to us when we were kids. It was like my dad’s theme song, or something.” Then, her face grew solemn. “I don’t remember it word for word now, but it was something along the lines of a powerful wizard rising to defeat the Dark Lord with his mastery of elemental magic.”

Korra’s ears cricked. “Elemental magic?”

She wasn’t new to the subject—she’d discovered over the summer between her fourth and fifth year that she had a knack for water-based magic. However, given that Mako and Bolin had also demonstrated finesse in fire and earth, respectively, she’d suspected it was an ability all wizards discovered at some point.

Then, to Korra’s shock—

“It’s incredibly powerful magic. Most wizards never unlock their true potential,” Lin droned like a textbook.

Korra was stunned.

Most _wizards_ _never do?_

Kya nodded. “Even if they do, it’s usually just one element they can cast. Only my father has ever mastered all four.”

Korra was numb.

_A powerful gust of wind–followed by a curtain of fire–these, the Equalist dodged, leaping and backflipping nimbly–but he wasn’t prepared for the wall of earth that rose up to greet him, and he tripped backwards over it—before a surge of water knocked him onto the ground–and then froze over, leaving him encased up to the neck in ice._

“S-so…was Aang t-the ‘Chosen One’?” she stuttered, voice choking in her throat.

Kya and Lin exchanged a pained look.

Korra’s eyes flittered between them nervously–eagerly—she’d been waiting for this moment for well over a month now—

Lin shook her head subtly at Kya, who nodded.

“It’s almost time for dinner. You should get going, Korra,” Kya said at last.

Korra gaped.

“What? But—”

“Get going if you don’t want to lose more House points,” Lin barked. “You’re giving us a bad name.”

Recognizing defeat, Korra scowled and slinked back down the magical ladder.

The trapdoor slammed shut behind her.

 

* * *

 

_"Why can’t I play with the other kids, Daddy?”_

_Tonraq gazed down at Korra solemnly. She was five—they were sitting in their igloo, in front of the paradoxical (enchanted) fireplace._

_“It’s not safe, sweetie.”_

_"Why not?”_

_Tonraq looked agonized, miserable. There was a note of melancholy in his voice when he spoke again._

_“You’re…you’re special. We have to protect you. Even if…even if that means you can’t make any friends.”_

_At that, Korra burst into tears._

_Then, Korra was eight. It was her birthday._

_She gazed down dismally at the book in her hands:_ Quidditch Through the Ages.

_“What’s wrong, sweetie? Don’t you like Quidditch?”_

_“I…I do. I just—I thought I was going to get a broomstick. Daddy said he was seven when he got his first broom.”_

_Senna’s eyes were sad._

_“It’s not safe for you to ride outside alone, honey. I’m sorry. Maybe next year.”_

_Korra knew ‘next year’ would never come._

_It was Christmas._

_Korra had just knocked her plate off the dining table. She was ten and glaring at her parents, eyes ablaze. Behind them, several witches and wizards—warriors of the Southern Wizarding Tribe—were waiting with their wands out._

_“Why are they always here? Why can’t it ever be just us?” Korra demanded._

_For as long as she could remember, there had always been a guard in the house—no matter what day, what time of day._

_Korra’s parents looked stricken._

_“It’s for your safety, sweetie,” Senna said softly._

_"Why? What terrible, god-awful thing will happen if someone doesn’t watch me sleep or eat breakfast or—or pee?”_

_Senna and Tonraq exchanged a look. Both wore an expression that suggested as though they were bearing the weight of a burden that had been forced upon them—something unsolicited, inexplicable, irrevocable—and they’d never learned how to manage it._

_“We…we have to protect you,” Tonraq echoed finally, as he had, for every time Korra asked._

_“Protect me from_ what _? Going outside, having friends, living a normal life?”_

_Tonraq, for all his might, his broad shoulders and strong jaw, stern eyes and integrity as chieftain, looked as if he was about to cry._

_“Yes.”_

_“UGH—I HATE YOU!”_

_Senna got to her feet—Tonraq reached out—_

_“Korra, wait—”_

_Korra stormed out of the igloo and into the blizzard._

“Korra—Korra, are you all right?”

“Ugh,” Korra groaned in pain, clutching her head.

Tenzin had been alarmed, to say the least, when Korra had informed him of Kya’s theory regarding a ‘connection’ with Amon. The Occlumency lesson that followed was brutal—fueled more by desperate concern than any rational recognition that Korra would not be able to grasp such a difficult technique in one session alone.

She was presently on her knees, vision reduced to nothing but indistinct colors. Everything ached; it felt as if Tenzin had reached into her mind with a rake and scraped the contents out forcefully.

 _It was always there_ , Korra realized with a jolt, once she regained feeling in her hands. _I’ve always been the Chosen One._

Suddenly, her parents’ past behavior made a lot more sense, and Korra was overwhelmed by a rush of remorse at how she’d treated them. The sentiment was accompanied by one of hurt—even her parents knew something she didn’t, and had never bothered to tell her.

“Korra?”

“Ugh, yeah, yeah—I’m here.” Korra accepted Tenzin’s outstretched hand. “Can’t we stop here for today?” she pleaded as he helped her to her feet.

Tenzin’s eyes hardened. “We mustn’t. Who knows what Amon has planned for you?”

Occlumency—the act of shielding one’s mind from Legilimency—came at a great cost (both physiologically and psychologically) to one as unexperienced as Korra. She could neither focus nor keep her emotions at bay long enough to generate a durable defense against Tenzin’s incursions; it required a clear mind, something Korra hadn’t possessed for several weeks now, and like Charms, the technique did not come naturally to her.

“Fine,” Korra huffed. “Just give me a minute.”

A minute was insufficient for Korra to stabilize herself—she was still overwhelmed with guilt at her lack of empathy towards her parents, and annoyed with Tenzin for his lack of empathy towards her. Her irritation was only further exacerbated when Tenzin brandished his wand again less than a minute later.

_“Legilimens!”_

_Damn it, I said a minute,_ Korra thought fiercely, and she whipped her wand out in return—

But this time, Tenzin hadn’t entered her mind.

Korra was standing outside, near the Great Lake, beside a tall, lean boy with piercing blue eyes and a buzz cut. In front of them was a rather lovely girl with raven locks that fell just below her chin. Both were oddly familiar—

“Are you serious?”

The girl was crying, Korra realized. Her eyes—green—were emanating hurt. She glowered up angrily at the boy, who wouldn’t look at her.

“Forgive me. I must have confused my affection for you as a friend for that of a lover,” the boy muttered while looking at the ground.

He had an oddly formal manner of speaking for someone so young.

“Don’t give me that rubbish,” the girl snapped. “Seriously, a third year? Tenzin, we’re seventeen. How can you have feelings for a _third year_?”

The boy—Tenzin—blanched.

“Pema is…very mature for her age.”

 _She’s pretty,_ thought Korra, as she gazed at the girl. Pretty, not unlike—

“Lin,” Tenzin sighed, “I’m…I’m really sorry. But we can’t see each other anymore.”

Lin, whose face was still scar-free, drew her wand. _“Levicorpus!”_

“L-Lin! Please! Put me down!”

Korra gasped as she resurfaced into the Charms classroom. Tenzin managed to have repelled her, finally, but—

“How—how did you do that?” Tenzin demanded, one hand on his temple. “Legilimency is a very rare and difficult technique.”

_So is elemental magic, apparently._

Korra shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I was crossed—and then it just sort of happened.”

“Intriguing,” Tenzin breathed, having had regained his composure. He was looking at Korra oddly—as though he didn’t know whether to be proud of or disturbed by her newfound skill. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said after a moment, “offensive magic always comes easier to you than defensive magic.”

“I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to,” Korra said guiltily. “It won’t happen again.”

Tenzin nodded absentmindedly. He was still looking at Korra thoughtfully.

Then, Korra broke into a grin.

“So, you and Lin, huh?”

Tenzin’s pensive expression evaporated immediately.

“T-that’s none of your business,” he snapped, very red in the face.

_This could be leveraging material._

“Do the kids know?” Korra asked innocently, crossing her hands behind her back.

Tenzin looked like he was about to burst.

“All right, all right—one last time and then we can stop for today,” he relented.

Korra grinned victoriously.

“Now, then—wand out. Clear your mind.” Korra’s grin faltered. She tried, nevertheless, knowing it would be futile— _“Legilimens!”_

Korra’s fingers snapped underneath the Bludger—

The Equalist pointed his wand at Korra—she couldn’t breathe—

Tarrlok, beaming down at her, holding his hand out—

“I’m in,” she’d said, looking up at him with determination—

_No, no not that—_

But it was too late.

Tenzin was livid when she returned to the Charms classroom.

Korra was sweating, out of breath, on the floor—but the professor had no sympathy.

“What the _hell_ did I just see?”

In all the time that she’d known him—her entire life, essentially—she’d never heard him speak like that.

“Korra, tell me you didn’t agree to that imbecile’s terrible idea!” Tenzin all but snarled.

Korra recoiled.

“I…I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

Tenzin was fuming.

“How could you keep this from me?” Ire was radiating off of him in waves. Korra couldn’t tell if Tenzin was disappointed—or hurt—perhaps some combination of the two. “You promised me full disclosure, Korra. How long have you been hiding this?”

Korra shrank back further, wishing she could sink into the floor and disappear altogether.

“Since…since the attack,” she admitted in a small voice.

“QUIT AT ONCE!” Tenzin roared.

Korra winced, and then gritted her teeth.

“Look, I already said I’d do it. I can’t back out now.”

“Korra, I swear if you don’t quit—”

“You’ll what? Tell my dad?” Korra retorted cynically.

She was beginning to lose her patience.

_Not telling you was on me—but what I do is my business._

Tenzin’s nostrils flared. “I ought to! After I promised you—you couldn’t do the same for me?”

Korra ignored the guilt that began gnawing at her. She wasn’t going to—couldn’t—give in that easily.

“It just sort of happened, all right? What’s the big deal? I just want to make a difference.”

“That’s _not_ your responsibility!”

“Isn’t it? I’m the Chosen One,” Korra fired back. “But you won’t even tell me what that is—you won’t tell me what I’m supposed to be doing. People are getting hurt—they’ve _been_ getting hurt—and I’m just here, broken and useless—”

 _“Please. They chose wrong. You can’t protect anyone. You_ didn’t _.”_

“I already told you, that’s none of your concern—”

“Why not? I’m almost an adult—”

“You’re still a child,” Tenzin hissed.

Clearly, he hadn’t meant to say that—regret crossed his face almost immediately—

But the damage had been done.

Korra’s hands curled into fists.

“Fine, I’m a fucking child,” she spat. “That’s all I’ll ever be to you ‘adults,’ isn’t it?”

“Korra, wait—”

But she’d already left the classroom.

 

* * *

 

Korra found that the more time she spent with Asami, the less she minded the latter’s relationship with Mako.

The Ravenclaw had been absorbed into their group, and she blended in so well Korra was left to wonder why she’d resisted the change before. It didn’t feel like anything had really changed—only that that which was had improved.

Korra was surprised by how well Asami got along with Bolin—who, in many ways, bumbling, confused, and overly-excited, was her polar opposite. The two spent the most time together out of everyone in the group (though, perhaps this was owing to them having the least extracurricular activities)—even more time than Asami and Mako spent together. Korra often caught Bolin and Asami playing Wizard’s Pai Sho together, and though Asami won every time, Bolin seemed just as willing (eager, even) to relive defeat each time. More than anything, the two bonded over a subject that had captured Bolin’s interest by storm: social media.

Neither Mako nor Korra had the slightest idea on what that could be—but whatever it was, Bolin adored it, and spent many afternoons badgering Asami on how the muggle contraption worked.

“We should have that! It would change the wizarding world!” he’d insisted to anyone who would listen.

With Bolin’s love for journalism and all things gossip-worthy, Korra was unsurprised by this development. Asami, who had grown up engaging with such muggle technology, was highly amused by it; Opal, whose father was a muggle, was equally as amused.

Korra’s distrust of Asami began to fade with time—it was still there, certainly, but Korra found that she would rather ignore it. After all, Asami’s dark moments, those unknowable and inexplicable instances, had ceased to exist. However, in their stead, Korra caught Asami looking at her very intently from time to time; she looked almost melancholic, and Korra could never fathom why Asami gazed at her as though lamenting some unforeseen tragedy.

“What are you up to?”

Asami’s voice was like velvet.

She had snaked her arms around Korra’s shoulders from behind, leaving the latter startled.

“R-research,” Korra stuttered.

She was sitting on the grass by the Great Lake; she’d been reading under a tree, and hadn’t expected anyone to find her out here. (It was a weekday—Korra had merely skipped her Remedial Charms lesson; everyone else should’ve been in class). There were aurors, of course, who gazed at Korra curiously—but it wasn’t their job to enforce attendance (they didn’t bother).

Korra glanced up at Asami, who smiled down at her with warmth in her eyes.

Unable to hold eye contact, Korra looked away quickly. “What are _you_ up to? Don’t you have Transfiguration right now?”

Asami removed her arms from Korra and sat down beside her. “Yeah, I do.” She gazed up at the sky for a moment before grinning at Korra roguishly. “We have to travel in partners, right? I guess you inspired me to play hooky.”

Korra tilted her head. “How’d you know?”

“Well, Professor Tenzin burst into the classroom before any of us could and asked Professor Beifong if she’d seen you. You were in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning, so I figured you probably just ditched,” Asami explained, twirling a dandelion in between her thumb and index finger.  

Korra hung her head sheepishly. “Yeah—I—things have been pretty awkward with Tenzin since he found out about you-know-what. Err,” she paused to close her book, “what did—what did Suyin tell him?”

“To get out of her class.”

Both girls laughed.

Asami’s laugh was musical, and Korra found herself oddly soothed by it.

“Yeah, I—I should probably talk to him but….” Korra sighed, setting her book down. “Easier said than done.”

Asami chuckled. “You and Mako are exactly the same.”

Korra scowled immediately. “Are not.”

For whatever reason, a coy smile had crossed Asami’s face at this. She looked down, smiling to herself.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Asami’s smile widened at this; her cheeks reddened, kissed by scarlet. It was a fairly warm day for October—there were no clouds in the sky, save for one, and the sun had just emerged from behind it. The sunlight hit Asami at the perfect angle—dancing off her hair (shimmering raven), drawing highlights and shadows across her cheekbones, dripping off her eyelashes, which seemed even longer than usual.

When the heiress didn’t answer, Korra nudged her lightly with her shoulder.

Suddenly, Asami turned—and blew the dandelion petals into Korra’s face, causing her to sneeze uncontrollably.

“Hey, uncalled for,” Korra protested with a red nose.

Asami was laughing too hard to reply. Korra pouted until the other calmed down.

“I regret nothing,” Asami grinned before using her chin to indicate the book Korra had set down. “Research for what?”

Korra hesitated.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Asami—it was that she didn’t trust her fully. Although Asami had joined in on the evening gossip sessions and generally spent most of her time with the trio now, it was an (mostly) unspoken agreement that she not be invited to their research. Granted, they hadn’t had much time to actually engage in it, but it was a grave matter, and though Bolin required some convincing, Mako and Korra had agreed that—for now—Asami need not be part of it.

“Um…this.” Korra handed the book to Asami.

Resisting would arouse suspicion and estrange them once again, and Korra fervently wished to minimize conflicts with those close to her.

Asami raised an eyebrow. “ _The Four Nations_ by General Iroh I?”

“Elemental magic,” Korra clarified.

Asami’s other eyebrow joined the first one. “What do you need to know that for?”

Korra hesitated again.

“Well…err—” _I probably shouldn’t tell her what Kya and Lin told me_ “—s-something happened during the attack.”

Asami’s face changed abruptly. She stiffened.

“What attack?” Asami asked slowly.

_Oh, wait, fuck—she isn’t supposed to know about that._

“So…Mako never told you?” Korra chanced.

Asami shook her head.

_Well, at least that bloke did one good thing._

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “Err…well…basically, I took my polar bear dog for a walk a few weeks ago and then an Equalist ambushed me.”

“They did?” Asami sounded skeptical. “How did they get in?”

“No idea. I’m pretty sure it was a guy, though.” Korra paused. “That’s…that’s actually why I wasn’t in class a while ago,” she admitted.

Asami looked like she was about to throw up.

“I’m…I’m really sorry,” she murmured almost inaudibly, “that that happened to you.”

Korra forced a grin. “I mean, I’m fine now.” _Mostly. Kind of._ “That’s all that matters, right?”

Asami didn’t look reassured by this. She was doing it again—that nervous tick.

“Do you want to hear what happened?” Korra inquired after a beat, realizing Asami wouldn’t be convinced.

The other girl winced.

“Not really.”

“But _you_ asked,” Korra pointed out, baffled.

Asami looked away.

“I didn’t know…”

Frowning, Korra poked Asami’s side. The latter jumped, staring at Korra in shock.

“Did you just tickle me?”

“No, and you’re a privileged brat if you call that little poke ‘tickling.’ I was merely using proven methods of conversion to get you to listen to my wicked story,” Korra replied stoically.

Asami narrowed her eyes at Korra before rolling them and shoving the latter playfully.

“Fine, fine. Whatever gets you to stop talking so much.”

Korra grinned—and then remembered the circumstances surrounding her exciting tale. Her enthusiasm faltered. She cleared her throat mock-importantly, hoping Asami hadn’t noticed her momentary (lingering) unease.

“Basically, while I was fighting him, I, uh…cast all four elements?” Korra recounted lamely.

Asami froze.

There was something like awe on her face—mingled with something else, something Korra couldn’t decipher. Then, it was gone, and Asami let out a chortle.

“That was anticlimactic,” she said at last.

Korra scowled. “Hey, it’s pretty cool! I didn’t even know it was possible.”

Asami studied Korra.

Something dawned on her face, and she frowned.

“So…you didn’t know you could do that before now?”

Korra shook her head. “It sort of just happened. I thought I was going to die so…so maybe that unlocked something?”

Asami grimaced and looked away.

_I should probably stop mentioning death and destruction so casually._

Korra touched Asami’s forearm to retrieve her attention.

“Here, read this passage,” Korra ordered, holding _The Four Nations_ out to the heiress.

Asami raised an eyebrow but accepted the task wordlessly.

Korra had all but memorized the (bookmarked) page at this point.

_Elemental magic is a very ancient technique, coined by the four founders of Hogwarts. There have been instances of four core elements: fire, earth, air, and water. Each element responds to one’s values and beliefs—that which is captured in its most pure essence by the caster’s aura._

_I have listed the four founders’ defining traits and corresponding elements as examples below:_

_Godric Gryffindor: fire, for his boldness and drive to take action_

_Helga Hufflepuff: earth, for her patience and tenacity_

_Rowena Ravenclaw: air, for her wisdom and detachment from materialism_

_Salazar Slytherin: water, for his unconditional mutability to realize his ambitions_

_This correlation has been proven by others who have also managed to unlock the ability; one’s personality directly corresponds to the element they are able to cast._

_To clarify, elemental magic is not just employing a Fire-Making Spell or a Water-Making Spell—it is using the element like an extension of yourself, bending it to your very will. It is not dissimilar to nonverbal magic, and its strength is entirely based on the strength of your aura._

_It is worth noting that, following the Hundred Year War, there has been a sharp decline in air mages—whom Sozin, my grandfather, the first Dark Lord, feared most, and took upon himself to exterminate. Since then, air-based magic has been considered virtually extinct._

_Given the incredibly challenging nature of controlling one’s aura precisely enough to make contact with the primal sources of magic, only a few wizards have ever unlocked the ability to cast elemental magic. In recent years, this includes Toph Beifong, Katara of the Southern Wizarding Tribe, my nephew, Lord Zuko, and most notably, Aang the Chosen._

_Herein lies one of my greatest discoveries: Aang the Chosen not only wielded the rare air-based magic–but was capable of casting all four elements. Never has any other wizard accomplished this feat (or if one has, it hasn’t been recorded in history)._

“See,” Korra said once Asami had finished reading. She pointed at the last paragraph triumphantly. “Only one other wizard has ever managed to do it—and that was _Aang._ Therefore, I’m cool,” Korra declared, crossing her arms.

Asami snorted before covering her mouth.

“Hey,” Korra whined, shoulders slumping. “Just let me have it.”

Asami’s eyes softened and she poked Korra’s side gently. “Okay, you’re cool,” she agreed. “I mean it, though—that is really impressive.”

Pleased, Korra puffed out her chest comically. Both girls laughed, though Korra stopped first.

She sighed.

“I just wish I knew what it meant.”

Asami was looking at Korra oddly. Then, she was looking at her the same way she always did—sadly. She looked away after a moment, choosing to gaze down at the open book instead; then, her brow furrowed, and she quickly turned back to Korra.

“Wait, did you read this part?”

Korra looked at where Asami was pointing.

_Beyond Aang, there are two other individuals worth mentioning: my brother, Ozai, and my niece, Azula. Both have exhibited a technique I’ve never seen before—lightning conjuration. If this were to be considered elemental magic, then it is beyond the scope of the four elements; the ability has been referred to as a ‘fifth element,’ though, given the extreme rarity of it, no further research has been done to prove this._

_While no others have managed to conjure lightning, out of caution, I have devised a technique to counter it: lightning redirection. I will cover the technique in a later chapter._

_I must say that Azula was perhaps the most powerful fire mage I have ever encountered; the color of her magic—her fire—was not orange, but azure—_

“Wait, I’ve seen something like that before!” Korra cried excitedly. “When I fought the Equalist he—he cast a curse on me—it was like blue fire.”

Asami looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“That sounds like the Fire Princess’s Curse to me,” she said. She sounded irritated for some reason. “It’s not raw elemental magic—it’s just a specific spell.”

Korra deflated.

 “Oh.”

_Wait—how does she know that?_

Awkward silence.

No one on the faculty recognized the curse, but Asami—?

She was capable, certainly, and brilliant—one of the most brilliant minds Korra had encountered—but she was sixteen, too, and seemed to know more about the wizarding world than the most esteemed witches and wizards in the nation.

Korra found herself doubting Asami all over again.

Finally, after unbearable silence that stretched far too long, Asami returned the book to Korra. The latter was uncertain on how to proceed.

She got to her feet eventually, tucking _The Four Nations_ into her bookbag. Korra offered a hand to Asami, who looked at it questioningly.

Korra had decided to push the concern away for now—it was the easier option; however, it was certainly a matter worth discussing with—with someone. (Lin, perhaps? Though, Korra felt reluctant to do so.)

 _I really hope it’s just because Asami is a giant nerd._ _Maybe they studied it in Ilvermorny—she’s already proven that American wizards can do more, maybe they know more, too?_

“Classes are almost over—let’s go meet up with the others,” Korra said. “I could use some food.”

Asami nodded, allowing Korra to help her to her feet.

As they began trudging up the hill to the castle, Korra couldn’t help but notice Asami looked dismal again, as she did often these days. She wondered to herself how well Mako knew his girlfriend—if he had even picked up on any of her anxious habits. Korra could tell, from the manner in which Asami spoke, she was the first one to hear the heiress’s concerns (or so, she wanted to believe).

“What’s got you so worked up?” Korra piped up.

Asami looked startled—as though she hadn’t realized that her emotions were that apparent—and then sheepish, at being caught.

“It’s stupid,” she muttered, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

“I’m stupid,” Korra replied, to Asami’s immense amusement.

She giggled—didn’t cover her mouth this time—and it was, as Korra expected, gorgeous.

“Okay, fine—I’ll tell you,” Asami conceded once she’d settled down. She lowered her eyes. “I…I’ve never…I’ve never been good at elemental magic.” Asami had said the last part all in one breath, screwing her eyes shut tightly as though unable to withstand the confession of this dastardly sin.

Korra stared.

“That’s it?”

Asami’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. She frowned. “What?”

“ _Most_ wizards can’t do elemental magic,” Korra pointed out. “Don’t you think you’re being a little too hard on yourself for what most people consider nearly impossible?”

Asami’s expression suggested Korra had imparted some kind of grand wisdom—something profound, beyond the constraints of what one could possibly conceive.

“You’re…right,” Asami admitted. “I guess I never thought of it like that.”

Korra chuckled. “You’re literally the only person I know who gets crossed at herself for not being able to do something most people can’t do. You don’t have to be perfect, you know.”

Asami laughed mirthlessly.

“Tell that to my dad,” she retorted darkly.

Korra’s grin vanished.

“He’s…he’s really gifted at elemental magic, actually. A brilliant fire mage.” Asami scoffed. “I’m his disappointment of a daughter who can’t cast patronuses or elemental spells.”

Korra frowned.

A lot of Asami’s problems seemed to stem from the same root, and she couldn’t help but wonder if—if Asami’s mother were alive, how things would’ve been different.

“Y’know,” Korra began, “your dad is a real stick in the mud.”

Asami glanced at Korra, who was struggling to keep the indignation out of her voice. The latter took a deep breath before returning her attention to Asami.

“You’re the most talented witch I know. He doesn’t realize how lucky he is to have you,” Korra said seriously.

She was unable to look at Asami after that—too embarrassed by the blatant expression of affection.

_Maybe I really am like Mako._

Korra hadn’t noticed that Asami had stopped walking until she tried to peek at the latter’s reaction; Asami was still rooted to the spot Korra had left her.

She looked dazed.

 

* * *

 

“What are you _wearing_?”

“Ugh—don’t ask. We have uniforms, now, apparently,” Korra grumbled in response to Bolin, throwing herself into the chair beside him with a huff.

After weeks of preparation, Tarrlok’s task force had finally been put into motion (to Tenzin’s outrage). As promised, the last of the restrictions on the students had been removed—as had the last of Korra’s free time. As captain of the student task force, to add to her endless list of obligations, Korra scarcely had time to breathe.

To Korra’s alarm, the task force had about the opposite effect of what Tarrlok—no, perhaps he’d never cared—what she had anticipated: tensions between the muggle-borns (who remained) and the purebloods were at an all-time high. The purebloods had welcomed this new security force with delight—while the muggle-borns felt alienated. (Korra couldn’t blame them—the terrible slogan their 'leader' had come up with was 'Restoring Magic and Safety to Those Who Belong.') Half-bloods, like the Beifong children, Jinora, and Ikki, lingered in the gray area in between.

Worst of all, Korra had to work with Tahno—who, like the other Slytherins, had eagerly volunteered himself for this pseudo anti-Equalist (truly, anti-muggle-born) cause.

“I haven’t seen anyone wearing pants since the summer,” Bolin said, poking at Korra’s shoulder pad in intrigue.

Mako was also intrigued, eyeing Korra’s new uniform with a raised eyebrow.

She was wearing a gray breastplate with silver shoulder pads over a black gi; the gold-trimmed armor was secured by a belt, under which, the rest of the gi hung like a sash. Her pants (also black) were a little more loose-fitting, and disappeared into silver knee-high combat boots. To top it all off, a golden badge emblazoned with the word “Captain” had been pinned to her chest.

It was a rather becoming outfit—it was just a bit overboard, and drew too much unwanted attention from the student body, which fluctuated between expressing respect and ridicule towards the task force.

“We literally always wear pants for Quidditch,” Korra reminded Bolin irritably, slapping his hand away.

“Someone’s cranky,” Bolin pouted, cradling his rejected hand.

“Sorry,” Korra sighed. She buried her face in her arms. “I’m just really tired.”

“Are you sure you’re up for this? We can always meet up another time,” Mako offered.

“No, if we don’t today, we’ll never do it. It’s been weeks since the last time we met up—I literally never have time,” Korra complained, voice muffled by the table.

The trio was gathered in the library, just beside the Restricted Section. Nobody ever sat in this area, as most people would rather avoid Wan Shi Tong’s looming scrutiny (often accompanied by reproach), so it was the safest bet for performing research.

“Okay,” Mako agreed uneasily. “So, what’d Kya say?”

Korra raised her head and rested her chin on her hands. “Basically: yes, it’s Legilimency, yes, they’re visions, and yes, there _is_ a prophecy—but it was about Aang, from a century-and-a-half ago. It was about him using elemental magic to stop the Dark Lord—but he could use all four elements, which is unheard of. Oh, and apparently we’re incredibly gifted wizards or something because most people can’t do elemental magic.”

Bolin and Mako exchanged a glance.

“That isn’t news,” the elder of the two said.

Korra sat up straight. “Wait, you two knew all that?”

“No, just the part about elemental magic being hard,” Bolin clarified.

“But we can all do it,” Korra pointed out.

Bolin grinned before brushing nonexistent hair over his shoulder in a flamboyant manner. “I guess we’re just that talented.”

His brother said nothing, but he seemed to agree with the sentiment. Korra couldn’t help but laugh.

Mood slightly buoyed, she pressed, “Do you think we’ll be able to find anything on the prophecy—or on elemental magic?”

Mako rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Dunno. It does seem like the type of thing that would show up in one of those muggle programs—what are they—documentaries? If there’s information on it somewhere, it has to be here at Hogwarts—”

“OH!” Korra cut Mako off loudly, causing the latter to jump.

“SHHHH!” Wan Shi Tong hissed from a distance.

Korra grinned apologetically at him before turning back to the brothers, who were gazing at her in bewilderment (Mako looked disgruntled).

“I remembered something else—something I forgot to tell you,” Korra pressed on in a lower voice. “When I was fighting the Equalist, I—I don’t know how—but I—I cast all four elements on him.”

Stunned silence.

Mako and Bolin were gaping at her.

Clearly, even with their knowledge of elemental magic, this was new information.

Korra rubbed her arm self-consciously.

“That has to mean something, right? Aang is the only other person who’s _ever_ been able to perform elemental magic like that.”

Bolin found his voice first. “Do you think you’re descended from him or something?”

Both Mako and Korra deadpanned at this.

“Aang is literally from the other side of the world, genius,” Mako sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tenzin would have to be her dad, at the very least. Last time I checked, Korra has other parents.”

“Good try, though,” Korra said, clapping a disheartened Bolin on the shoulder. “There has to be something else…like some sort of—”

_Connection._

“OH!”

“I swear to Merlin—one more outburst and I will ban you from this library,” Wan Shi Tong snarled, materializing out of thin air to jab a finger in Korra’s face.

“Sorry, sorry…”

She waited until the cranky librarian had disappeared around the corner to continue.

“Kya told me that you need to make eye contact—or at least, be in close proximity to the person you’re performing Legilimency on,” Korra whispered, leaning forward so that only Mako and Bolin could hear. The brothers mirrored the action. “But obviously I’ve never met Amon. So, she thinks…she thinks there has to be something connecting us.”

The blood drained from Bolin’s face.

Even Mako looked considerably shaken.

“She’s right—I forgot about that,” he murmured.

But that was all anyone had to offer.

They were enveloped in silence, a sense of foreboding looming over them.

Finally—

“Well, we do have _a_ start.” Mako turned to Korra. “You’re good at Legilimency, yeah?”

Korra made a face.

“That was literally _one_ time—”

“Quick—what am I thinking about?” Bolin demanded. He pressed two fingers to either side of his head and gazed deeply into Korra’s eyes.

“Opal,” Korra said without blinking.

Bolin’s jaw dropped—and then Mako and Korra burst into laughter.

“No fair, you guys always bully me,” Bolin whined. “I wish Asami was here.”

Once they’d settled down, Korra added, “There’s one more thing I want to look into: Amon’s whole ‘taking away your magic’ thing. That can’t be possible.”

“Aang did it,” Mako said immediately. “That’s how he defeated the Dark Lord.”

_Right. I forgot he actually paid attention in History of Magic._

“He’s the only one, though, yeah?” Korra inquired.

“Maybe you can do it, too,” Mako grinned wryly.

Korra rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. “Whatever. We should look into it.”

‘Looking into it’ resulted in absolutely nothing.

Research was much more difficult than the trio had originally believed, even with Korra’s newfound knowledge, and nothing in the library seemed to contain any valuable information. There were at least twenty books on Aang and numerous on the Hundred Year War (however, anything written by or about the Dark Lord and his family had been destroyed ages ago), but none of these proved useful.

All they had determined after four hours of intensive research was an effective timeline of Aang’s life and accomplishments: he’d defeated Ozai in his second year at Hogwarts, become Head Auror and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement by age nineteen, quit law enforcement after ten years as the most successful auror to date in order to pursue a career in teaching, become Head of Hufflepuff while teaching both Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts before being elected Headmaster at age thirty-nine. The only thing Korra had discovered by the end of the session was a significantly lower sense of self-esteem.

 It was well past the library closing time when the trio threw in the towel (were chased out by Wan Shi Tong)—or at least, Korra and Bolin did.

“I’ll walk you back,” Mako said as the younger two got to their feet, “but I’m going to go see Kya. I have some theories I want to run by her.”

“Whatever floats your goats, big bro,” Bolin replied with a yawn.

They trudged towards the Common Rooms lazily, fatigued by a day of excessive intellectual stimulation with nothing to show but a decline in morale (and a ‘D’ on Korra’s last Potions assignment).

“I can’t believe we found _nothing_ ,” Korra grouched, massaging her temples.

“Weird,” Bolin agreed. “It’s almost like it doesn’t exist.”

“Or someone’s trying to hide it,” Mako supplied grimly.

They stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just call it a day?” Korra asked.

“I’m sure. I have patrol duty the rest of this week—and I need to coordinate strategies for the match this month—there’s no other day I’ll have time to see her,” Mako answered.

Korra knew the feeling.

“All right, well—thanks for dropping me off first,” she said as Bolin motioned to hug her in farewell.

“Of course! What are gentlemen for,” he beamed before scowling at Mako. “You better get in on this group hug.”

Both Korra and Bolin extended an arm and fixed him with the same glare.

Mako rolled his eyes and ruffled their hair (Korra’s heart flip-flopped, though she willed it to stop). Korra and Bolin whined and leaned away simultaneously.

“Good night,” Mako chuckled, waving over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Does he always have to look cool?” Bolin grumbled, fixing his hair as he trailed after his older brother.

Korra didn’t disagree.

She turned to face the Fat Lady, who was giving her a knowing smirk.

“Flying Bison,” Korra mumbled, red in the face.

“I wish I’d had one,” the Fat Lady retorted, swinging back to allow Korra into the Common Room.

The Gryffindor Common Room was a homely space, with a massive stone fireplace at the center. It was flanked on each side by tall, stationary windows. During the day, the room was flooded with natural light; now, long past nightfall, the windows permitted only a glimmer of moonlight, casting an enigmatic glow on the room. The mantel above the fireplace proudly displayed the Gryffindor lion, and the rest of the room was painted with scarlets and golds—arm chairs, tapestries—even the bulletin board, which was swarmed with ads and notices.

It was only five past ten, but it was a weekday, so the Common Room was deserted.

As the fireplace was enchanted, Korra was unsurprised that the fire was still ablaze. It was only as she approached staircase to the girls’ dormitory did something dawn on her—

She did a double-take—and then her jaw dropped.

_“Dad?”_

Sure enough, poised and stoic, the head of the Southern Wizarding Tribe’s chieftain was sitting in the fireplace (seemingly unfazed by the sparks sputtering just below its beard).

“Dad— _what_?” Korra gasped.

Tonraq raised an eyebrow.

“You said you wanted to Floo.”

“Yeah, but not—” Korra ran a hand through her hair in exasperation “—I said let me know _when_ you have time to Floo, not show up unannounced.”

She looked all around the Common Room for signs of life (eavesdropping)—as though a first year might pop out of hiding.

Tonraq’s face didn’t change, though there was a glint in his eye.

“It sounded urgent.”

“Err, yeah, it is,” Korra confessed.

“Well?”

Korra thought of all the reactions she’d received in response to the query plaguing her—that had been plaguing her. Lin and Iroh, who’d lied to her face, Kya, who’d changed the subject, Tenzin, who’d denied it vehemently; she thought of her parents, who’d looked at her sadly for the past sixteen years, who’d looked terrified every time she left for Tenzin’s home and incredibly relieved when she returned–who knew something she didn’t (had always known), and never bothered to tell her–

So, instead Korra asked—

“What can you tell me about Aang?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age gap between Tenzin and Pema is much, much bigger in the show, for those of you who don’t know. I was shook.  
> Also, I didn’t really notice when I was younger but I can’t believe J.K. Rowling deadass named a character the “Fat Lady.”


	7. The Felix Felicis

“ _That_ ’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

Korra recoiled.

“Err…what else?” she asked, feigning uncertainty.

She had a few ideas of what else—the task force, her slipping grades, her numerous injuries…

Tonraq deadpanned.

“You were _attacked._ ”

Korra went stiff as a rod. She glanced around wildly, but any perceived threat was in her imagination, for the Common Room was completely still.

“By an Equalist, no less. _After_ I asked you to come home,” Tonraq continued sternly, making each point its own sentence.

It was a guilt-inducing tactic he’d employed since she was a child—usually, Korra loathed it.

However, for once, she said nothing and kept her eyes on the floor.

“I was told you were roaming the grounds _alone_. Against new security protocol.”

Korra fidgeted nervously. When it seemed like Tonraq was done, she stole a glance at the fireplace—and then immediately lowered her eyes again.

He was glaring at her.

Fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, Korra mumbled in a barely audible voice, “H-how did you know?”

She prayed that it wasn’t Tenzin—he wouldn’t be that petty, would he?

 _You deserve it if he was,_ Korra reminded herself with a wince.

Tonraq appeared startled by Korra’s lack of resistance to his reproach, as though he’d been anticipating some sort of brutal confrontation (which, honestly, wasn’t unwarranted). His ire faltered momentarily before he regained his composure.

“Kya told me.”

Relief washed over Korra—and then her stomach sank.

Tenzin had kept his promise. She was the one who’d let him down.

Tonraq paused, eyeing his daughter suspiciously. “Did you not tell Tenzin?”

“No,” Korra replied hastily.

It wasn’t entirely a lie—Korra hadn’t told Tenzin. _Iroh_ had told Tenzin.

When Tonraq looked skeptical, Korra added, “Raiko made me promise to keep it a secret. He wants to pretend everything is okay so people don’t panic again—actually, probably more because he doesn’t want any more bad press about Hogwarts.”

Again, a partial truth, with a few details conveniently omitted.

Tonraq’s face darkened. “Hogwarts started declining the moment that man became Headmaster. It’s about time he steps down and lets Tenzin take over.” He sighed and lowered his head. “This is exactly why I wanted you to come home—they can’t keep you safe there.”

“Hogwarts is the safest place in the world,” Korra countered stubbornly.

“Exactly—” Tonraq’s head snapped up “—and you were attacked _there_! The only thing stopping Amon from knocking on your bedroom door is his own discretion,” he retorted testily.

Korra suddenly felt nauseous, and it required a herculean amount of effort to not let it show. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she sat down in a nearby armchair, hoping Tonraq wouldn’t realize it was because her legs were about to give out.

“It’s not like he’s targeting me, specifically,” Korra lied through her teeth.

She knew that wasn’t true—knew they both knew that wasn’t true, and it showed in a flicker on Tonraq’s face.

**If only she knew…**

Korra frowned. “What did you just say?”

Tonraq looked up in alarm. “What?”

“What did you just say?” Korra repeated. “I couldn’t hear you properly.”

She’d heard him loud and clear—just couldn’t believe that he had said that.

Tonraq blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

Korra stared. “But I heard you s—”

Something dawned on her, and she didn’t finish her sentence.

Tonraq gazed at her warily.

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired,” Korra adlibbed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the attack. I didn’t want you to worry. Raiko installed more aurors and Ta–” _Dad_ hates _Tarrlok_ “—erm, other security forces. I promise I’ll tell you if anything else happens—but it won’t,” she added when Tonraq started to interrupt her.

Clearly, he wasn’t convinced, but after a moment, he closed his mouth and relented with a nod.

“Fine. Just tell me you’re all right.”

Korra plastered a smile on her face. “I’m all right.”

There was so much more Korra didn’t know if he knew—if there was, she couldn’t tell, and didn’t know how to verify again.

_How did I even do that in the first place?_

Tonraq studied Korra carefully.

“What did you want to ask me about Aang?” he inquired at last, though Korra knew their initial conversation was far from over.

It would be revisited in the future, over and over again, with reprimand after reprimand—

At least now she knew it was because he worried (which, she’d always known at heart, but now she truly recognized the concern).

“Well….” Korra decided to devise her excuse as she went along, and part of her wondered if she’d been Sorted into the wrong House at this point (the Sorting Hat _had_ lingered on Slytherin longer than she would’ve liked). “I have to write my term paper about…err…prophecies in Divination.”

Korra hadn’t told Tonraq that she’d decided to drop the subject (she doubted he would handle the news well given how much emphasis their culture placed on spirituality), but realized a moment too late that Kya might have.

To Korra’s relief, her father seemed unaware.

“Ah, yes, the prophecy of Aang the Chosen,” Tonraq murmured. “It’s the only prophecy in the wizarding world that has ever turned out to be true.” A hand appeared from the pit of the fire, and Tonraq rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Did you choose this topic?”

“Yes,” Korra lied.

She was gripping the armrest of her chair so tightly her knuckles were turning white. (She prayed her father hadn’t noticed.)

Then—

“In that case, you should probably change your topic.”

Korra’s fingernails tore into the flesh of the armchair. She didn’t doubt that Tonraq had seen—knew there was no point in hiding her devastation—but tried her best, all the same.

“How come?” Korra pressed cautiously.

“The actual prophecy itself is locked away in the Department of Mysteries.” For a wild moment, Korra considered realizing the plot of a book (which consisted of teenagers breaking into the Ministry of Magic for said reason) she’d read as a child. “There may be a written copy somewhere in Hogwarts, too, but I doubt you’d have access to it.”

Korra made a mental note to ask Mako if he could bypass such regulations.

“Is there anything _you_ can tell me?” she chanced, attempting to hide the damage to the armchair with her hand.

An unfathomable expression crossed Tonraq’s face. He was looking at Korra strangely, and she feared for a moment that he was about to admonish her again—

“I knew Aang,” Tonraq said finally.

Korra stared.

“Wait, what?”

That—actually, that made a lot of sense, considering how close her family was with his wife and children.

However, Tonraq didn’t look too happy about this. In fact, he looked very aggravated for some reason.

“Yes, he was an old family friend of ours,” Tonraq continued in the same annoyed voice. Then, his face darkened abruptly; his voice was cold when he spoke again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can be of much use. There’s nothing more I know beyond what you’ve probably already heard.”

Korra’s heart fell.

She didn’t even try to hide her disappointment this time, sinking into the armchair in utter resignation.

_Maybe I should give up on this altogether. Everywhere I’ve looked has been a dead end. Maybe…Maybe Tenzin is right. This is none of my concern._

Suddenly—

_Merlin, I really am that sleep deprived._

Korra nearly smacked herself for missing something so obvious.

Of _course_! _Aang_ —Aang the _Chosen_ —Aang was the Chosen One!

Then—

Then what did that make her?

“Erm…do you know anything about…connections, then? I, err, I heard—” Korra had to think quickly “—I heard Aang was connected to the Dark Lord somehow.” 

Tonraq, who looked disgruntled that she hadn’t dropped the topic, answered nonetheless.

“They were bound together by the prophecy, of course.”

Korra started drumming her fingers against the torn cushion.

Could there—could there possibly be something about her in the prophecy, too, then?

  _I have to tell the others._

“All right, all right—don’t give me that look. I’ll give what you said some thought,” Korra conceded, catching sight of her father’s glower. She was spewing lies absentmindedly at this point. “I, err, I have some time until the deadline to change my topic, anyway.”

This seemed to mollify Tonraq.

“I’m sure Kya will understand.”

_Yeah, I’m sure she will._

“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” Tonraq pressed when Korra remained silent, lost in thought.

“Oh, err—” Korra was about to say ‘yes,’ when she abruptly remembered something. Her hand stilled. “Have you…by any chance…heard about the Fire Princess’s Curse?” she asked hesitantly.

Tonraq’s thick eyebrows inched towards his hairline.

“I thought this was for Divination, not History of Magic.”

Korra balked.

“Err, sorry—this isn’t about my assignment. I just, uh—” _I probably shouldn’t tell him that the Equalist cast it on me_ “—I heard about it and I got curious.” Korra paused. “Wait, so you know what it is?”

Tonraq looked doubtful of Korra’s explanation, but he nodded after a moment.

“Yes, Katara mentioned it to me a very long time ago. Err, well, actually,” Tonraq was red in the face, “she didn’t tell _me_ –she told…your mom…during a healing lesson…” he trailed off sheepishly.

Korra rolled her eyes.

Of course, her father had been one of _those_ suitors—waiting outside the healing school tent with other boys from the tribe to catch a glimpse of pretty girls.

Tonraq cleared his throat.

“A-anyway, she said that it was the only curse outside of the Unforgivable Curses that she didn’t know the counter-curse for.” There was something at the back of Korra’s mind—something flickering urgently, notifying her that something that didn’t align, that there was something she should be wary of—but she was far too fatigued to fully comprehend it. “It’s a nearly ancient curse, though. Katara is one of the only surviving wizards to have witnessed it in person. Nobody has used the curse—well, more accurately, nobody has been able to recreate it in almost a century, not since the fall of Azula.”

A chill passed over Korra.

That made the Equalist she’d encountered possibly—no, certainly, one of the most powerful wizards of the current era. And he was still on the loose—

“How did you hear about it, again?” Tonraq probed with a poised eyebrow.

“Err…my friend told me about it,” Korra admitted. It was possibly the only truth she’d confessed the entire conversation. “We were talking about elemental magic for—for a Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment.” _And there goes the truth._ “She’s, uh, she’s American.”

Tonraq relaxed.

“That makes sense. Ilvermorny’s Defense Against the Dark Arts program focuses more on theory and history. They tend to prefer offensive magic over defensive magic over there, as well.” He rolled his eyes. “Americans are under the impression that a strong offense is the best defense.”

Meanwhile, Korra had nearly melted into the chair in relief.

 _So Asami_ is _just a giant nerd._

The consolation was so overwhelming Korra felt that she would’ve collapsed were she standing; blood rushed to her head, and everything was hot and cold at once. She hadn’t realized how emotionally invested she was in the affair until she’d received confirmation (blindly accepted any form of validation) that her fears weren’t true.

“Dumb Americans,” Korra threw in for good measure.

This earned a laugh from Tonraq.

Breathing easier, Korra continued, “All right, well, thanks for making time to Floo. I appreciate it.” She paused. Fidgeted. “Err, and again, I’m sorry, Dad...”

Korra couldn’t look directly at her father.

The apology went well beyond this conversation, beyond any of her mistakes this school year; it was a weak attempt at reconciling something she knew she could never truly make amends for. There was no way Korra could directly apologize for sixteen years of disrespect, or even discuss it at length–not with their cultural customs. The topic held too much weight, too much history, and was far too immense to contain in one conversation.

Tonraq looked dumbfounded, shocked that he had managed to extract two apologies from his strong-headed daughter in one night (the second one requiring no effort on his part).

After a long silence—

“It’s all right,” he said softly.

“I, um.” Korra gazed up at the ceiling. “I’ll be home for my birthday. You know, the big one.” _Yes, your father knows how old you are, genius._ “So, uh, what I…what I’m trying to say is…uh….I…I….” _Fuck, just say it, you moron._ “I’m excited to see you and mum.”

More silence.

_Well, it’s a start, I suppose._

Tonraq seemed stunned by this admission. Korra didn’t generally—in fact, had probably never blatantly expressed affection towards her parents without prompt.

“That’s…I’m glad to hear that.” Tonraq’s voice sounded strangled. Korra glimpsed at her father—who also appeared uncertain on how to handle this unprecedented situation. “The Spirits Festival is the same weekend as your birthday, this year. You should bring your friends.”

He also wasn’t looking at her.

“Y-yeah, I’ll do that,” Korra agreed. “You should go to sleep, Dad.”

“It’s dawn here, sweetie.”

Korra blushed. “Right. _I_ should go to sleep.”

“Good night, Korra.” When Korra glanced back at her father this time, he was smiling warmly at her.

She smiled back bashfully. “Good night, Dad.”

Tonraq gazed at her a moment longer, as though taking as much of her in as he could. There was an odd mixture of pride and worry on his face—then his head disappeared with a _pop_.

Korra stood and stretched lazily. It was well past eleven now; fatigue weighed her down like lead in her muscles, and the warmth from the fireplace was soporific.

Stifling a yawn, she waved her wand above the damaged armchair and muttered, _“Reparo.”_

The incantation came out as more of a sleepy mumble, so the resulting effect was less than satisfactory, but it was enough as far as Korra was concerned. (Given her propensity to break things, the Mending Charm was the only non-combative Charm she’d mastered.)

As Korra ascended the stairs to her bedroom, her mind wandered back to what her father had said about the Fire Princess’s Curse.

It was always like that with Asami. Too convenient, too calculated—

Part of her knew that it was false advertising, but Korra bought it all the same.

No receipts. It was easier that way.

That was what Korra told herself, anyway.         

     

* * *

 

Korra wasn’t really paying attention to what Tarrlok was saying.

Given that the first Quidditch match of the year was always between Gryffindor and Slytherin, research had been placed on the back burner for now (as Mako and Korra were busy with practice, amongst everything else, nearly every day). And that was precisely where Korra’s mind was—the match was tomorrow, and she currently had no patience for the task force (though she never did).

Korra was currently in Tarrlok’s office in the dungeons. It was enchanted wider in order to be able to fully accommodate the entire task force, as it always was for the meetings. The office itself was a plain room, all stone, devoid of any furniture and, outside of the banner draped across the entrance (“Tarrlok’s Task Force: 'Restoring Magic and Safety to Those Who Belong'”), any decoration, leaving Korra to wonder how it usually looked.

She caught Tahno’s eye from across the room and he smirked at her. This comprised most of their interactions—but there was something extra infuriating about his attitude today. Something more in his expression, a glint of mischief in his eyes that held a little too much promise.

“…the first Hogsmeade trip is coming up soon—just a few weeks away. In addition to the aforementioned arrangements, I will need at least ten representatives from the student division to enforce security, just to be safe,” Tarrlok droned. Then, he turned his gaze on Korra. “I expect our Student Captain to organize and helm this assignment.”

Korra internally groaned. 

_Great. I wanted to go to Honeydukes with the others…_

But she forced a smile and nodded. “Of course.”

Pleased (and perhaps, cruelly amused), Tarrlok returned his attention to the force at large. “That will be all for today’s meeting. Dismissed.”

The task force members—sixty some aurors, Ministry employees, prefects, and seventh-years—began chattering amongst themselves as they filed out of the door. Korra wondered which nine imbeciles she’d have to pester next month.

She had literally no friends on the task force, as she’d advised all of her existing ones against it. Moreover, to her repugnance, those on the taskforce harbored very strong anti-muggle-born sentiments.

 _Tenzin was right. This_ was _a bad idea,_ Korra had realized quickly, to her immense disappointment.

In the end, she’d unintentionally become the posterchild of a xenophobic organization, and could barely bring herself to look Asami in the eye these days.

Asami never commented on the matter, but Korra didn’t doubt that the heiress was unhappy about her involvement in the (severely misguided) cause.

_Maybe I can quit after another month? That wouldn’t look too bad…. I can just say I’m too busy with practice, patrol duty, and N.E.W.T. classes…plus my Potions grades are slipping fast…. Yeah, yeah, that should be all right—_

Someone had blocked Korra’s path while she was formulating a feasible excuse.

 _Of course,_ she thought bitterly as she gazed up at Tahno’s smug face.

“What do you want?” Korra hissed with one hand on her hip.

Tahno, who was at least two heads taller than Korra, peered down at her over his long nose.

“Going to practice?” he asked gleefully.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “What’s it to you?”

Tahno smirked like he knew something she didn’t. “Nothing. Just wanted to wish my favorite Gryffindor good luck,” he sneered. Then, he leaned down so that his face was just beside hers, and whispered, “You’ll need it.”

With a wink, Tahno slinked back to his Slytherin minions, who were howling with laughter.

Korra scowled.

The Slytherin team cheated at every opportunity—that was a given, and came as no surprise to her. Still, that didn’t explain the spring in Tahno’s step.

But Korra had no time to dwell on the matter, so she rushed up to the dormitory to change before all but sprinting down to the Quidditch pitch.

“All right, Korra?” Terrace greeted as Korra arrived on the field, panting.

Korra gestured uselessly before extending a thumbs up. That was all she could manage in her current state.

Practice stretched late into the night, and it was past ten before Mako conceded to the notion that rest was equally as important for the match.

“Gather ‘round,” he ordered as the team flew down to the ground.

The seven players, all heavily perspiring and out of breath, huddled close together (Terrace and Wing had to slouch to include Kai).

“You lot have done really well these past few weeks. I’m proud of you.” Mako paused to beam at each of them; his gaze lingered on Korra a fraction of a second longer than the rest. “We all know Slytherin is going to play dirty tomorrow, but no matter what happens, I want us to put up a good fight. Even if we lose, I want to know we lost only because Tahno is a git.”

Everyone laughed.

“Don’t worry, Capt’n. We’ll slaughter ‘em,” Wing piped up.

“Yeah—or at least, we’ll break Tahno’s nose,” Wei added, to everyone’s amusement.

Despite the severe fatigue that had plagued Korra for weeks now, she felt revitalized. Each of her teammate’s smiling faces filled her with warmth; there was something reassuring in their company, something genuine, a bond unparalleled, understood only by those who’d struggled together.

She glanced at the bleachers, where Asami was sitting, as dutifully as ever. Korra smiled unknowingly—until she noticed Asami was sitting alone.

Korra frowned.

_Where are Bolin and Opal?_

“Which one of you is Mako?” a low voice grouched.

Everyone turned to face the source (there was some bumping and complaining, as their heads were pressed together)—a short, stout man with long white hair that melded into unruly mutton chops. Toza, the squib caretaker of Hogwarts, was approaching with a lantern.

The players glanced at one another quizzically.

“Err, that’s me, sir,” Mako said at last, removing his arm from around Korra’s shoulders to indicate himself.

Toza stopped before him.

“Well, I got some news for ‘ya.” Korra’s stomach churned. “Madam Xu wanted me to let you know there’s been a change of plans.”

Mako nearly lost his balance.

There was only one thing (barring threat to his loved ones) that could unhinge Mako—and that was interfering with his plans.

Pale in the face, he stuttered, “C-change of plans?”

“You’ll be playing Hufflepuff tomorrow,” Toza continued, as though there had been no interruption. “Switched with Slytherin.”

_That motherfucking git—_

Korra wasn’t the only one upset by this news.

“Are you bloody serious?”

“That’s rubbish!”

“The match is tomorrow!”

“We’ve been practicing to play Slytherin, not—”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Toza snapped, somehow more irritated than usual. “I didn’t decide this.”

With that, the caretaker began lumbering back up the hill towards the castle.

In his wake arose an air of tension. Everyone glanced at one another as though hoping to find something other than the same lost expression mirrored back at them.

Like any other sport, Quidditch called for incredible tactical prowess—and like any individual, every team had its own colors, its own style, its own stratagem, requiring long periods of examination and reexamination to fully understand. Changing opponents last minute meant the last month and a half of preparation was now utterly useless.

Korra groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

 _Of_ course. _Of course, that’s why Tahno was so giddy. That piece of sh—_

Kai voiced the question that was on everyone’s minds.

“What are we going to do now?”

Mako, who still looked nonplussed, gathered himself. He cleared his throat. “What we can. I supposed there’s nothing else to do. Just do what we practiced.”

“D’you think that’ll work?” Tu inquired, rubbing his arm anxiously. “Hufflepuff plays nothing like Slytherin.”

Mako bit his lip. “Honestly, dunno. But Hufflepuff is probably less prepared than we are—that’s all we’ve got, and we’ve got to use it.”

Tu nodded in grim agreement.

This knowledge was slightly reassuring, but the atmosphere remained considerably gloomier than before. With heavy hearts, the team returned to the castle (Mako diverged to escort Asami to the Ravenclaw tower).

Korra’s onset insomnia had improved as a result of her recent (exceptionally demanding) schedule, but she felt as though she had returned to the first week of classes as she lay in bed that night.

_I hate that git, that stupid, fucking arsehole, that motherfucking—_

Sleep was persistent in its evasion of her, and despite the somnolence tugging at her eyelids, the ache in her limbs, and the pounding in her head, Korra found no reprieve. Anxiety had thrown its cloak over her once again—she was drowning in its endless folds, its murky depths, falling, falling, falling until—

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—_

Korra tossed and turned incessantly.

It was probably unnecessary—and a little overdramatic—that she was so worried about an inconsequential sport. But Korra had always been like this, needlessly troubled, needlessly accepting the burden for that which she had no responsibility, so at this point, insomnia appeared the victor.

After several hours, Korra had nearly succumbed to her sleepless fate when she suddenly remembered the vial of Felix Felicis bubbling under her bed.

 

* * *

 

“You look tired,” Mako commented through a mouthful of toast.

There was a distinct note of concern in his voice (though Korra was left to wonder if it was regarding her wellbeing or Gryffindor’s fate).

Korra smiled weakly. “Aren’t I always?”

“C’mon, Korra, don’t give up,” Wing interjected. “I talked to Opal this morning—they’re just as confused as us.”

“I guess that gives us a fighting chance, yeah?” Korra chuckled.

“That’s the spirit,” Wei grinned, clapping her on the shoulder.

Despite the impression of cheeriness, Korra knew everyone’s enthusiasm was forced—their smiles strained, voices faltering.

Korra caught Bolin’s eye at the Hufflepuff table; he waved cheerfully at her, but she could tell he was just as unsettled by this entire affair.

She thumbed the bottle in her pocket.

It was technically… _illegal_ , but so was everything Slytherin did every match of every year. (They had probably—no, definitely—bribed Madam Xu to alter the season schedule in the first place.) Korra was hesitant about employing the potion, but if they won this match, that would give them a head start in the Quidditch Cup and restore their fallen grace in the House Cup—and that was worth it, wasn’t it?

 _If Wei knew, he would be all for it_ , Korra tried to reassure herself.

She hadn’t entirely convinced herself to commit a misdemeanor yet. Still, it was the only thing that'd allowed her to finally slip away into unconsciousness last night; now, the mere prospect of Felix Felicis filled Korra with more dread than hope.

“You have to eat,” Mako urged, nudging Korra’s shoulder.

Korra glanced down at her plate, which was still empty. She’d been too busy nursing (several) goblets of coffee.

“Right, food,” Korra agreed, and began mindlessly piling her plate with various dishes.

Breakfast went quickly, too quickly, and she found herself walking down to the Quidditch grounds with the team before she knew it.

“Hey, babe,” a familiar voice behind them crooned.

Korra squirmed a little as Mako stopped walking to kiss Asami.

Fortunately, their mating ritual was brief today. They resumed walking shortly, the trio trailing behind the rest of the team.

Korra wondered what to say to Asami—if she should say anything at all—maybe she should walk faster, instead—

“Hey,” Asami’s fingertips grazed Korra’s forearm, “how are you feeling, champ?”

Korra froze.

Guilt, first.

Then, confusion.

_Isn’t she mad at me?_

There was no trace of reproach or disappointment or—or any negative emotion on Asami’s face as she smiled gently at Korra. Korra knew Asami knew—had seen the heiress look down sadly, bitterly when the student task force jeered as she walked by (on numerous occasions). There had to be something there, some lingering hurt, resentment that Korra was responsible for—

If there was, Asami didn’t let it show. (A conversation for another time, perhaps.)

In fact, if anything, Asami only looked concerned for Korra.

Finally—

“Confused,” Korra replied feebly. “Kind of like I’m going to throw up whatever I ate.”

Asami’s fingers trailed down Korra’s forearm to her hand, and then slid between the gaps of Korra’s.

Korra gazed down at their interlocked hands.

Only then did she notice the gap between the two of them and Mako—realizing with a jolt that Asami wasn’t attached to Mako at all.

“Hey, c’mon. You got this,” Asami beamed, giving Korra’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

She was looking at Korra from under her eyelashes again, and her eyes seemed brighter and greener than usual. 

“Korra, you coming or what?” Mako called over his shoulder.

Korra abruptly realized that she (they) had stopped walking.

“C-coming,” Korra stammered. She turned back to Asami. “I’ll, uh, I’ll catch you before the coin toss?”

“Okay,” Asami agreed, releasing Korra’s hand. The loss of contact was only momentary—then her hand was on Korra’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, all right? You’ll be great. I mean it.”

Asami’s voice was tender, and Korra believed her.

The bottle of Felix Felicis suddenly weighed a thousand pounds.

She only wished Asami didn’t believe in _her._

“Thanks,” Korra smiled—tried to smile, it was more like a delicate tug at the edge of her lips—before she jogged over to Mako.

The team got changed in a hurry and gathered around the whiteboard at the tail end of the locker room. Mako went over a few key points (unorganized notes haphazardly scribbled down from the few Hufflepuff practices he’d managed to catch).

Korra knew the greatest threats of the Hufflepuff team—Bolin, Opal, Maddie—and knew their styles well enough, but the rest of the team consisted of newcomers (unknowns), and that left a knot in her stomach.

Mako’s grand finale entailed dropping all of his notecards and, after gazing at them forlornly, yelling at Kai for no reason.

_Yeah, that pretty much settles it. We’re screwed._

“Grab your gear, I’ll meet you out on the field,” Mako said once he’d finished admonishing Kai.

He was the first to leave the locker room—followed by Wing, Wei, Terrace, Kai (who, in his naivety, was more eager for the challenge than the rest of them)—

“You coming, Korra?” Tu inquired as he pulled on his headgear.

Korra blanched at being caught. She’d been lingering at the back of the room, hoping nobody would notice the fact that she had no further preparations to attend to and was effectively loitering.

 _Shit_.

Korra faked a smile.

“Yeah, I, err…I need, erm, I need to stop by the shed and borrow some gloves,” she managed to splutter out.

Thankfully, Tu was distracted enough to buy it.

“Oof, yeah, don’t blame you.” He grimaced at the unpleasant memory. “Well, I’ll see you out there then. Don’t take too long.”

Korra grinned at Tu until he left and then exhaled in relief.

Mako’s highly unconvincing and rather demoralizing speech had convinced her. Korra withdrew the vial of Felix Felicis from her duffel bag (where she’d been forced to stuff her robes inconspicuously).

Something beyond her—some strange biochemical need—had flooded her entire nervous system and she wanted nothing more than to down the entire bottle in one go.

_“Liquid luck–toxic in large quantities...”_

McNamara’s voice echoed in her head, and Korra barely managed to restrain herself. (She was abruptly grateful they were facing Hufflepuff instead of Ravenclaw, recalling the consequences of Wei’s last unexpected encounter with the Ravenclaw Captain.)

Korra felt like an addict suffering from withdrawal as she began to unscrew the cork, trying to visually measure what would be an appropriate dose—

“Hey, Korra? Everyone is waiting for you out—”

Asami stopped dead in her tracks when she caught sight of Korra.

“What are you doing?”

_Bloody hell._

Korra hurriedly screwed the vial shut, as she’d nearly dropped the vial altogether when Asami had entered the room. However, she refused to give up on what seemed like the panacea to everyone’s (or at least, Gryffindor’s) crises.

“Err, feeling lucky?” Korra grinned sheepishly.

Asami looked positively alarmed.

She was by no means a delinquent—in fact, something of a model student, perhaps a candidate for Head Girl next year—but she never said no to minor transgressions (any of the twins’ morally ambiguous ideas).

“Korra, no.” There was a measured distress to Asami’s voice—something like fear mingled with—with something else. Asami crossed the distance between them quickly. “You _can’t_ —” Asami’s voice cracked “—you—you can’t do this.”

Korra’s eyebrows knitted together. “What, why?”

She was bewildered by Asami’s unusually strong resistance. She wondered if this was really the same girl who’d ditched class just to give Korra company, the same girl who grinned widely at the prospect of mischief.

“It’s not fair,” Asami insisted, reaching for the bottle.

Korra moved it behind her back. “Slytherin literally bribed Madam Xu into butchering the match order. It’s getting even.”

Asami’s movements grew more frantic as she tried reaching around Korra.

“Not for Hufflepuff,” she countered.

For someone who wasn’t an athlete, Asami had surprisingly good reflexes, and if Korra hadn’t lived and breathed Quidditch her entire life, she was certain Asami would’ve bested her. Korra was baffled by the panic written across Asami’s face; meanwhile, Asami wasn’t looking at Korra at all. Her gaze was trained solely on the vial—the fear in her eyes was almost absurd.

“But you said it was mine,” Korra reminded Asami, dodging the heiress’s advances. At this point, they were practically dancing around the locker room. “What’s the big deal? I can use it how I want.”

“Y-you can, just—” Asami’s voice grew more desperate with every passing second “—not like this.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—”

Asami had cornered Korra at last, and her arms were practically wrapped around the latter as they wrestled for the Felix Felicis.

_What on earth is wrong with her?_

Then, Korra’s gaze slid up—she caught Asami’s eye briefly—

**Korra, _please—_ no _—_**

That gave Korra pause for a moment.  

She didn’t understand Asami’s urgency—hadn’t understood where this sudden splurge of righteousness had sprouted from—and now she was starting to doubt it was that at all. Certainly, Asami was close with Bolin, but—but that didn’t warrant _this._

Korra tried to look into Asami’s eyes again— _eye contact, right, that’s the trick_ —

“Gryffindor! If you don’t get out there in the next few minutes, I’m considering it a forfeit—what in Merlin’s name is going on in here?”

Madam Xu, the burly, short-haired witch that oversaw all flying lessons and Quidditch-related activity at Hogwarts, had burst into the locker room. She stood frozen at the entrance, one hand on the door, the other outstretched towards Korra and Asami, who were still entangled in some kind of odd embrace.

The coach’s gaze fell on the vial, which was wedged between Korra’s chin and Asami’s left hand; her eyes narrowed.

“Is that Felix Felicis I see?”

Korra dropped the bottle—Asami caught it, in an impressive display of dexterity that made Korra wish she were on the team.

“Y-yes,” Asami stuttered.

Korra opened her mouth to defend herself—

“I-it’s mine, ma’am,” Asami steamrolled on, before Korra could say anything. Korra’s mouth remained open in shock. “I stole it from my dad’s quarters. I—I’m dating the Team Captain and I really wanted Gryffindor to win today. Since Korra is the star player, I thought I could help her turn things around…”

Korra stared at Asami in awe.

Not only had she lied impressively on the spot (which, in other news, was a little concerning—though Korra was guilty of that herself), but had taken the blame for something that was purely Korra’s own foolishness.

Korra tried to say something but Asami stomped on her foot, effectively ending any attempt at coherent communication.

Madam Xu’s eyes flitted between the girls warily.

“Is this true, Gryffindor?” Xu demanded, gaze settling on Korra.

Korra hadn’t had an Occulmency lesson in ages—and while she doubted a witch that specialized in flying could possibly be a Legilimens, she still steeled herself and attempted to clear her mind before making eye contact.

“Yes, ma’am,” Korra lied, eyes watering. Her foot was still throbbing.

Madam Xu looked dubious, and for a moment, Korra feared she had seen right through them—had peered into Korra’s mind with some unforeseen skill—

“Fine. Get out there before I change my mind,” Madam Xu barked. She pursed her lips and turned to Asami. “Sato, I’m confiscating that bottle. I’ll be having a word with your father about your actions.” Asami paled at that but said nothing. “Detention with Bumi. And, fifty points from Ravenclaw. I’m disappointed in you.”

Korra could practically see the horror on McNamara’s face when he caught sight of the Ravenclaw hourglass next.

“Won’t happen again,” Asami muttered weakly, handing the vial to the coach.

Madam Xu eyed at the pair suspiciously a moment longer before relenting. Pocketing the bottle, she turned to leave.

“ _I’ll_ get your gloves from the shed, Gryffindor. Meet me on the field. No more funny business,” she called over her shoulder before the door swung shut with a _clang_.

Silence.

Despite the autumn chill, the locker room was suddenly stifling.

Korra glanced at Asami, who looked as though her legs were about to give out.

The latter lowered herself onto a nearby bench with a sigh.

“I, um…” Asami glanced up at Korra. “I’m sorry,” Korra said finally, unable to look directly at the recipient of her apology. She rubbed the knuckles on her left hand. “I’m sorry if I...if I disappointed you.” Korra winced. “And I’m really sorry you got in trouble for something I did.”

It took a moment for Asami to react (clearly, she’d been processing something else).

She shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

_That’s it? After all that drama?_

“No, it’s not fair,” Korra pointed out with a grimace. “It’s bloody ridiculous–Slytherin pulls this bullshit all the time and she just goes along with it because they pay her off. You didn’t even do anything wrong. This was all my fault but you’re the one that’s going to be in trouble with your dad.”

Asami’s face tightened at that, but she smiled anyway. “It’s fine, Korra.”

“But—”  

“Listen.” Asami turned so that she was facing Korra. “What do you always tell me?”

“Say thank you instead of sorry.”

“So?” Asami pressed, eyebrows raised.

Korra searched Asami’s eyes. Contrary to earlier, they were free of reproach. In fact, it was almost as though the prior dispute had never taken place, and Korra was more confused than ever as to why Asami had been so opposed.

Asami was still staring at her expectantly, so Korra said slowly, genuinely, “ _Thank you_.”

“No problem. Now, c’mon—before Madam Xu bites your head off.”

Korra allowed Asami to lead her out of the locker room, but she was still frowning.

Asami looked as though she had just returned from war, victorious, but battered and worse for wear. It wasn’t reflected in her physical condition, it was all on her face; she’d won some invisible fight, but not without sacrifice.

And in spite of that, she was exuding a tremendous sense of relief—the significance of which eluded Korra completely.

 

* * *

 

Kai had never fully grasped the concept that catching the Snitch quickly didn’t always work out in the team’s favor.

That was Korra’s biggest concern now as she eyed the scoreboard. Hufflepuff was leading with a disconcerting fifteen goals on Gryffindor, mostly courtesy of Bolin’s brilliance as a Beater; he knew just when to strike Tu’s weaknesses—or Mako’s—or Korra’s, and Korra was starting to resent ever having played mock games with him.

Maddie, as always, proved an excellent opponent for Mako, and was a little more level-headed than him about the whole situation. (Gryffindor had lost the coin toss, which had further exacerbated Mako’s foul mood.)

To make matters worse, Hufflepuff’s new players added the variety and talent Korra had feared they would; Gryffindor, which had been too busy studying Slytherin for the past month and a half, was unprepared to face them.

Opal was the only Seeker at Hogwarts who could go toe-to-toe with Kai, and she’d been proving it the whole match, leaving the two Seekers in an impossible stalemate.

 _If they keep this up, even if Kai gets the Snitch, we’ll lose,_ Korra thought grimly.

She gazed out in the stands. Shiro Shinobi, a Hufflepuff of an ambiguous age (as far as Korra was concerned, he looked like a full-grown man), was barking commentary into the enchanted megaphone—mostly insulting Gryffindor’s disorientation. Beside him sat Lin, whose lips were twisted to the side, disheartened by Gryffindor’s impending defeat, and Suyin, who looked torn on which of her children to support. Behind them was Hiroshi, who was smirking at Korra smugly.

Irritated, Korra looked away.

Then, she caught a pair of familiar emerald green eyes from the Ravenclaw box, gazing up at her…

_“You’ll be great. I mean it.”_

Something within Korra stirred, something beyond the superficial desire for victory—

Galvanized, Korra called out to Mako, “Can we get a time out?”

After narrowly dodging a well-aimed Bludger, he nodded.

“This is literally going worse than I expected,” Terrace commented as she joined the rest of the team on the ground.

“Agreed.” Mako turned to Korra. “What did you want a time out for?”

Everyone was weary of Madam Xu’s glower, directed mostly at Korra.

“I think I have an idea,” Korra whispered after offering Madam Xu a placating smile. She gestured for the team to huddle together. “At this rate, I don’t really think we can outplay them—their offense is way, way too good and Bolin knows how we play. So—” Korra’s eyes glinted mischievously as her gaze settled on Kai “—we don’t play like we normally do.”  

Mako raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me there’s more to your idea than that.”

Korra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Obviously. Look,” she pointed at the scoreboard, “if we can stop them from scoring long enough for Kai to catch the Snitch, we still have a chance. It’s a slim one, but it’s all we’ve got. Bolin knows we focus on our offense—so, forget about that. Focus on not letting _them_ focus. Forget about trying to score—just don’t let the other team near our goalposts. Hit Bludgers at them, block them, do whatever you have to do—”

Comprehension dawned on Mako’s face—

“Play like Slytherin.”

Korra grinned. “Exactly.”

Kai looked positively ecstatic.

“Are you lot done?” Madam Xu called, circling above the Gryffindor team.

“We’re ready!” Mako answered before holding his hand out. “'Gryffindor' on three. One, two, three—”

“GRYFFINDOR!”               

The scarlet-and-gold checkered box to the far left roared.

“That’s a lot of enthusiasm for a team that’s down by more than a hundred points,” Shinobi commented as the players returned to the air.

Korra ignored him, eyes trained on the young Chaser—a boy, perhaps a fourth year—before her. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool now…

Madam Xu’s whistle rang out, and the teams were off again—

“What the hell?” Maddie cried as Terrace zoomed directly at her, causing her to drop the Quaffle in shock.

Mako caught it swiftly and shot past an equally puzzled Bolin, who seemed paralyzed by his bemusement.

“Mako takes advantage of Hufflepuff’s confusion—and Gryffindor scores! That brings the score to fifty, Gryffindor, hundred-ninety, Hufflepuff. It’s getting close now, folks,” Shinobi added cynically.

They flew again—this time, Bolin was prepared, launching a particularly menacing Bludger towards Korra—

“Think fast!” Korra shouted at the Hufflepuff Chaser, tossing the Quaffle to him before dropping out of the air.

“Wha—”

WHAM.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Bolin wailed as the fourth year wobbled back onto his broom shakily.

“Is that—is that cheating?” Shinobi was all but breathing into the megaphone at this point. “Hold on, folks…we’re gathering our intel here…. Technically, it isn’t—but boy, was it mean!”

Bolin’s blunder had drawn Opal’s attention. She looked away for a moment—Kai shot past her—

“What’s this? It seems the Gryffindor Seeker has caught sight of the Snitch! He hurdles towards it—”

“Bollocks!” Opal cried before kicking off after Kai.

A tiny flash of gold zipped around the stadium perimeter, Kai was red-hot on its tail—Opal was several yards behind him, the distraction having served as an effective impediment—

“This is for that time you ate my leftovers!” Wei yelled.

_Crack!_

Opal veered to the left, the Bludger just barely missing her—

“HEY! BE NICE TO YOUR SISTER!”

“Professor Beifong, you can’t—”

A sort of fuzzy, scraping noise reverberated throughout the stadium as Suyin and Shinobi wrestled for control of the enchanted megaphone. Korra was momentarily distracted, glancing at the stands once again—

Suddenly, the Gryffindor box erupted with cheers.

“I don’t believe it—Gryffindor has managed to turn it around once again! Kai catches the Snitch, bringing the final score to two-hundred to one-hundred-ninety!” Shinobi bellowed once he had regained possession of the megaphone.

Kai grinned triumphantly, pumping his arm into the air. There was no mistaking the silver wings sticking out of his fist.

He glided by the stands, expertly steering his Satobroom with one hand and using the other to flaunt the Snitch to the crowd. The Gryffindors went wild as he passed them; the Ravenclaws looked uninterested (save for two); the Hufflepuffs booed playfully but there was no real malice behind it; the Slytherins glowered at him, obviously the most bitter about Gryffindor’s triumph. Tahno’s long nose was scrunched up as though he had caught a whiff of something foul.

Kai’s boasting lasted all of a few moments before he was engulfed in an embrace by Wing, and then Wei, and soon, the entire Gryffindor team.

“WELL DONE, KID!” Mako hollered, ruffling Kai’s hair.

“I KNEW YOU WERE OUR KIN!” the twins chorused.

“YOU DID IT!” Korra shouted.

“ _YOU_ DID IT!” Kai shouted back.

“Good game,” Maddie called from the other side of the field.

“GREAT GAME!” Tu retorted, and the Gryffindor team burst into laughter.

Korra’s heart swelled (though she could scarcely breathe under the weight of six other bodies). She didn’t need the Felix Felicis—she felt like the luckiest witch in the world, exhilarated, blood pumping with adrenaline, brimming with energy that should’ve been well depleted by now—

Despite their loss, Bolin and Opal looked impressed, and—and Asami, Korra had to—

When Korra glanced up at the stands again, Hiroshi looked outraged.

This only made their victory sweeter.

Korra didn’t have time to find Asami again, for the rest of their House had raced onto the pitch–she was hoisted onto someone’s—several someones’—shoulders, and carried off the field.

The good fortune didn’t last.

 

* * *

 

Several butterbeers—smuggled in from Hogsmeade (Korra didn’t know who, but she had an idea)—later, Korra was stumbling around the Common Room trying to clean up the mess her peers had made. Butterbeer didn’t have any alcohol, but she doubted whether the Beifong twins would’ve settled for that; this explained the fog in her mind, the blur in her vision, the lull in her movements.

Korra would be nursing a nasty hangover tomorrow—it wouldn’t be her first—but that was later.

Despite her inebriation, she had to maintain at least some semblance of responsibility—she was a prefect, after all. Prefects did their duty, and that was what she was about to do. (This was what she told the bottle she’d been holding for the past few minutes intently, just in case it wasn’t sure.)

It was past midnight, and Korra could barely keep her eyes open.

 _Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow is a good idea,_ she told herself, and promptly dropped whatever was in her hands.

The sack of empty bottles fell to the ground with a muted _thud_ , and Korra was fervently grateful that the Common Room had carpet flooring.

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled to herself.

Korra was about to mount the stairs to the dormitory when she realized she wasn’t alone in the Common Room.

Mako was sitting at the Wizard’s Pai Sho table near the window, but he wasn’t brushing up on his skills. In fact, he didn’t even seem to be mentally present.

Korra caught sight of what he was holding—and her heart sank.

 _Another_ Evening Prophet?

Much more cognizant than she had been a moment ago, Korra quickly made her way over to him.

“Mako—Mako, what’s wrong?” Korra demanded, shaking him gently when he didn’t react. “What happened?”

Mako’s gaze slowly slid up from the paper; it remained unfocused for a few seconds before finally settling on Korra. His eyes were glazed.

Korra was worried someone had cast a Stunning Spell on Mako, for he said nothing for several moments, staring at her numbly, lips parted.

“Korra,” he croaked at last.

His fingers were trembling, Korra noticed, as he handed her the _Evening Prophet_.

Her eyes raked over the contents of the front page hastily—

**_Equalists Back in Action: Amon Launches Terrorist Attack on Wizarding Orphanage_ **

_In a shocking comeback after weeks of inactivity, the Equalists attacked the “Southern Temple,” a wizarding orphanage on fourth street in Diagon Alley. The orphanage was founded by Aang the Chosen and known for taking in pureblood, half-blood, and squib children without homes._

_Witnesses say Dementors were released into the building before it was lit on fire. There are no reported survivors._

_Amon left a message in the sky above the ashes of the building, which read: ‘Burn the blood to its end and leave no excess for it to rebegin’—_

The paper ripped between Korra’s fingers.

 _These are—these are_ children _! That_ monster—

Korra was trembling with rage—could barely see straight she was so livid—

Then, a muffled sob beside her brought her back to the Common Room.

Mako was shaking, and his eyes were unfocused again.

Korra’s anger would have to wait.

“Oh, Mako,” Korra whispered, and she only had to hold her arms out for him to collapse into them, “I’m so sorry.”

Korra had never seen Mako cry—this marked an unprecedented event, and she wasn’t sober enough to recognize (or handle) all the delicate intricacies of the situation. So, she did what she could, and she held him.

“There were kids—I—I told them I would see them before I left for work, I told them I was going to bring them Christmas gifts,” Mako blubbered incoherently into Korra’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” Korra murmured. “You don’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve this.”

“Bolin—Bolin doesn’t have anywhere to stay—” Mako’s voice choked in his throat.

Of course. Mako was graduating—he was already seventeen, was turning eighteen very soon, and with his grades, no doubt, would have an offer laid out for him—

But Bolin still had two more years left at Hogwarts. Bolin, Mako’s whole world, was now homeless, yet again.

“Sshhhhh, don’t worry about him.”

“But—”

“You two can stay with us,” Korra cut Mako off. She leaned away for a moment to kneel before him; her hands were still on Mako’s shoulders, and she held them firmly until he met her gaze. “We’re here for you, Mako,” she said sincerely, repeating his words back to him. “You don’t have to do this alone, anymore.”

Mako sobbed into Korra’s robes until traces of sunlight began to creep through the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter and the last chapter feel too rushed or too slow; they’re mostly transitional/set-up chapters for what’s coming. Also, some of you hardcore fans may have noticed, I’ve tweaked the Quidditch schedule a bit from the original series to fit the plot of this story.


	8. The Vault of Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated with trigger warnings.
> 
> So, this was originally one chapter but it got WAY too long so I had to split it into two; both parts feel kind of weak on their own, so I’m sorry about that. I hope the read is at least entertaining!

* * *

By the following day, word had spread all over the castle.

Everywhere Korra went, she was haunted by moving images of ash and smoke, voiceless screams of children who never saw the light of day. (This had to be the most widely circulated _Evening Prophet_ since the Hundred Year War.) The most appalling of all was the message Amon had left behind, hanging above the remains of the orphanage in a cloud of scarlet smoke; the words were composed of what seemed like shattered shards of ruby pieced back together, reminiscent of the Dark Mark. It was enchanting in its brilliance, almost beautiful in a cruel way—and that made Korra want to vomit.

Mako and Bolin weren’t the only ones affected by the attack. Several other Hogwarts students had found refuge in the Southern Temple, and now, had all been displaced again; amongst them was Kai, who was barely thirteen. Korra had fully intended to aid him in finding a new home, as well—only, Jinora had beat her to it. (This came as a relief, as Korra wasn’t fully prepared to actually have a conversation with Tenzin yet, let alone inform him that she had just added two more occupants to the already overcrowded house.)

Things had remained aloof with Tenzin since their argument a few weeks ago. While Korra had resumed attending her Remedial Charms lessons, hardly any interaction took place outside of them, if at all. Tenzin was much more abrasive than usual, relentless in pushing Korra to her limits, and Korra was more defiant than usual, insisting she couldn’t perform spells that she knew well enough (Tenzin seemed to know this, as well). The stalemate had no end in sight.

Nevertheless, Tenzin had promised to find accommodations for Kai before the Christmas holiday (Korra knew because she’d been eavesdropping behind a statue), which left only the brothers to cope with their loss.

As expected, Bolin was devastated by the news of the attack. He missed three days of classes and attended the fourth in his pajamas, hair sticking out in every direction; his attention was obviously elsewhere, and Opal reported that he’d lost Hufflepuff twenty House points in that day alone. There were dark circles under his eyes—a first, in all the time that Korra had known Bolin—and his appetite varied between voracious and nonexistent.

On the other hand, unsurprisingly, Mako showed no signs of vulnerability after that first night. He threw himself into his obligations with renewed fervor, working until he passed out from exhaustion. Korra feared (accurately) that he was trying to numb himself from feeling anything at all. When there was no more work to be done, Mako took up research; although the trio did have more time now that the next match was a few months away (and the eve of Korra’s departure from the task force was upon them, accompanied by a lot of duty-shirking on Korra’s part), only Mako possessed the will to engage in the seemingly dead-end investigation.

In fact, Korra and Bolin were lounging in the kitchens (allowed entry courtesy of Wiggles), when Mako found them next.

“There you two are—what are you _eating_?”

While Korra at least attempted to dine like a human being, sitting on one of the stools near the juicer, Bolin was lying on the floor, amongst a pile of his own discarded waste and leftovers, eating something that looked like human remains off his chest. The house-elves—busy preparing the evening menu—bustled about animatedly, stepping over or around him whenever they needed to pass.

“Cherry pie,” Bolin replied through a mouthful of said food item.

“Ugh,” Mako groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He had emerged quite literally out of thin air—and now held the reason under his unused arm.

“Is that your dad’s Invisibility Cloak?” Korra inquired politely, sitting up straight.

She tried to hide the treacle tart behind her back, but Mako didn’t seem too interested, anyway.

“Yeah. We can use it for what we’re about to do,” Mako answered, repulsion slightly alleviated. There was a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.

Korra and Bolin exchanged a glance.

“What are we about to do?” Korra asked slowly.

Mako held out the Invisibility Cloak like an invitation.

“Break into the Restricted Section of the library.”

Korra’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “What? Have you gone mad?”

Mako looked disgruntled by the less-than-warm response to his proposal.

“No—ugh. You’re the one who wanted to find out more about this Chosen One business. I didn’t say anything earlier because we had to focus on the match but—” Mako lowered his voice, his earlier outburst had drawn the attention of some of the house-elves “—the night I went to see Kya, she told me where we could find a copy of the prophecy,” he finished in a whisper.

Korra leapt to her feet.

“What, seriously? She told _you_?”

Pleased that he had finally evoked a reaction from Korra, Mako waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, calm down—it isn’t because of that. She was caned out of her mind, didn’t know what she was saying. Mumbling a whole lot of rubbish.”

Korra raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure we can trust what she said, with that kind of credibility?”

Mako’s grin vanished.

“Ugh, yes, we can. Forget what I said. I was just trying to be funny,” he muttered under his breath.

Korra and Bolin stared at him.

“All right, all right, I’ll never do it again,” Mako grumbled, back to his usual self. “Can we go already?”

Admittedly, Korra was more motivated than she had been all week, but, sparing a glance backwards, it seemed she was the only one.

Bolin had stopped eating, at least—but he was glaring at Mako.

“Aren’t you sad?” he demanded at last (speaking without food in his mouth, for once).

Both Korra and Mako were startled by the hostility in Bolin’s voice.

“I am,” Mako replied once he’d recovered.

Bolin was unimpressed.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Mako frowned.

“Just because I’m not eating my weight in cherry pies doesn’t mean I’m not sad.”

This seemed to rouse Bolin, who sat up straight, knocking several half-eaten food items off of himself.

“Everyone we know outside of Hogwarts is dead, and you want to break into the library for some stupid research? Don’t you _care_?” he all but snarled.

Korra grimaced, glancing at the house-elves, who had halted all activity.

There was no hiding their plans now.

“Of course, I care!” Mako fired back. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Not caring.”

Mako threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Oh, for the love of—” he seemed to remember where he was, and steeled himself.

Mako walked over to his younger brother and crouched before him. Bolin scowled at the hand Mako placed on his shoulder but didn’t shrug it off.

“Look, Bolin,” Mako continued in a gentler voice, “this is the only way we can make a difference. You and I—we’re just…kids, honestly. We’re not going to do anything or become anyone Amon will fear. We can’t bring back…the fallen. But,” he paused to clap Korra’s arm, “if Korra’s the Chosen One—"

“I’m probably not.”

“—shut up, if Korra’s the Chosen One, if Amon really _is_ looking for her, there’s a reason. Korra is probably the only one who can stop him, and we have to help her. That’s the only way we can avenge those— _our_ kids.”

This gave Bolin pause.

He closed his mouth, which had been hanging open in wait of an opportunity to interrupt. Bolin regarded his older brother with pursed lips.

For a moment, Korra feared Mako’s speech, however genuine, hadn’t worked—

Then, Bolin’s gaze settled on Korra.

“What do you think?” he asked finally.

“I, err…” Korra looked around her. “I think it’s a terrible idea. We shouldn’t do it.”

This pleased her audience, who seemed convinced that this was the end of that affair. The house-elves resumed work without objection.

Both Bolin and Mako were grinning at her.

 

* * *

 

“This thing is literally not big enough for all three of us,” Korra complained.

The trio had been clambering around under the Invisibility Cloak for several minutes now, completely out of synch with each other. What had worked a few years ago when they were younger had died with their growth spurts. Korra had stepped on Mako’s feet at least thrice and Bolin’s feet kept reappearing every few minutes.

“We’ll have to make do,” Mako hissed back, before hastily tugging both of his companions behind a statue.

Suyin was passing by on her way to the Great Hall.

They’d decided to go ahead with their plan now, since virtually all of Hogwarts’ inhabitants would be preoccupied with dinner.

“We’re literally invisible,” Bolin whispered.

“Yeah, but we still _breathe_. She’s not deaf.”

They waited until the coast was clear to resume their journey. After laboring for several more minutes, the trio finally arrived at the library. Only—

To their horror (and Korra’s complete lack of surprise), Wan Shi Tong was still there.

“Does he not eat?” Bolin gasped, as though this were some unfathomable sin.

“Honestly, I don’t even know if he’s fully human,” Korra commented, eyeing the librarian’s beak-like nose.

Wan Shi Tong was at his desk, pouring over scrolls of Merlin knew what. The trio glanced at one another, seeking counsel.

“We might not get another chance after this,” Mako said after a moment.

“He’s right,” Korra agreed. “Everyone is still in mourning—nobody would expect something like this right now. By the time things get back to normal, it’ll be exam season, and the library will be packed.”

Outside of Wan Shi Tong, the library was currently deserted.

“Okay,” Bolin conceded uneasily.

They began inching their way towards the Restricted Section (Korra was more convinced than ever that Wan Shi Tong was inhuman; his hearing seemed heightened compared to the average wizard). Bolin accidentally kicked a chair—

“Who goes there?” Wan Shi Tong called out, challenging the empty air.

Both Mako and Korra clamped a hand over Bolin’s mouth, as he was about to howl in pain. Wan Shi Tong was on his feet now; wand out, he began wandering towards them. When there was nothing to see—

“Is this some kind of trick? Sokka, that better not be you,” Wan Shi Tong growled, spinning in all directions accusingly.

As if on cue, the poltergeist dropped out of the air.

“Did you summon me?” Sokka, who was partially transparent, grinned.

He looked exactly as he did on Famous Wizard Cards—muscular, with sharp eyes and long hair that was pulled back into a ponytail; the sides of his head were shaved in a fashion Korra had been told was known as a ‘warrior’s wolf tail’ (though it just looked like a ponytail to her). Sokka’s upper-body seemed to meld into a tail of sorts, leaving Korra to wonder how exactly the legendary wizard had passed.

“No—you summoned _me_!” Wan Shi Tong turned on the Ravenclaw ghost irritably. “What have you done, this time?”

Sokka raised his translucent eyebrows.

“Err, I didn’t do anything. Yet,” he added with a mischievous wink in the trio’s direction.

Korra balked.

_Of course, he can see us._

But Sokka showed no signs of reproach; if anything, he played dumb, crossing his arms behind his back innocently. Mako nudged the other two, and the trio began edging towards the Restricted Section again.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that time you and that pesky little prophesied child broke into my quarters,” Wan Shi Tong hissed, pressing his wand to Sokka’s insubstantial throat.

“Ah, yes! I recall!” Sokka retorted merrily. “A grand day that was!”

“Hardly. If you’ve come just to disturb me, leave.” Wan Shi Tong stored his wand and began making his way back to the librarian’s desk.

“Can do, good sir!”

Korra could see the Restricted Section now, it was only a few yards away. Beyond a few books that rustled on their own and some that seemed to have been enchanted with teeth, the Restricted Section didn’t look all that different from the rest of the library. It sat undisturbed at the back of the room. Beyond the rope that sealed the section off from the rest, Korra could make out something—a rickety, old shelf that didn’t seem completely stationary. Perhaps it hid a secret doorway?

Then—

“Oof!” Mako grunted as a revolving shelf hit him square in the jaw.

Wan Shi Tong spun around immediately.

“What was that?”

 _Fuck,_ Korra thought as the trio flattened themselves against the wall. The cloak had fallen off for a fraction of a second, exposing Mako’s back—it wasn’t enough to identify him, but it was enough for Wan Shi Tong to know that it was a student.

“I know someone is in here,” Wan Shi Tong sang softly.

There was an extra layer of malice to his tone, and he began whistling an ominous tune as he approached the spot Mako, Bolin, and Korra were huddled around.

Korra’s heart was hammering against her chest. If they were caught—she didn’t know what the stakes were—would the professors wipe their memories?

Sokka, who had begun to float out of the library, zipped back.

“Me! That was me!”

Wan Shi Tong’s fingers were but an inch away from pulling the Invisibility Cloak off. He paused, turning back to narrow his eyes at the ghost.

 “I know that wasn’t you, Sokka. Stop covering for the students.”

Sokka’s tail whipped anxiously. “I-I’m not! In fact, I thought maybe we could reminisce together.”

Wan Shi Tong lowered his hand so that he could place both on his hips.

“Reminisce _what_ exactly?”

Sokka answered by using his tail to knock over a nearby shelf. “That time Zuko and I had a duel in the library.”

Wan Shi Tong’s jaw dropped as the shelf teetered on its side and then toppled over—releasing an avalanche of books, scrolls, and other manuscripts onto the floor.

“P-put that back right now,” Wan Shi Tong ordered in a shaky voice.

He looked like he was about to rip all the hair off of his own head.

“Oh, but the duel was longer than that, if I’m remembering correctly,” Sokka replied cheerfully, grabbing a copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ off a nearby shelf.

Without warning, he hurled it at Wan Shi Tong’s desk. The book roared to life and began chomping at the contents of the desk with great vehemence.

“NO!”

Wan Shi Tong all but sprinted to his desk.

He was still wrestling with the book when Sokka began a game of dominoes with bookshelves.

“GET OUT OF MY LIBRARY!” the librarian bellowed, drawing his wand.

“I was a professor here once! I know my rights!”

That was the last thing Korra heard before Wan Shi Tong charged at Sokka. The shouting—and the sound of books falling—grew further and further away before vanishing into the distance.

Korra let out an enormous sigh of relief.

“I love that man,” Bolin declared immediately.

“As do I. Now c’mon—before that bloody librarian comes back,” Mako urged.

They stepped over the rope carefully before hurrying onwards. As Korra suspected, Mako lead them to the unsteady bookshelf.

He stopped before it deliberately.

“If I remember correctly, Kya said we had to pull this one,” Mako mused, hand hovering over a novel titled _Love amongst the Dragons_ (Korra wondered why something like that would belong in this section).

With one supple movement, he removed the book.

A beat.

Nothing.

Then—

“Merlin,” Korra cried, grabbing hold of Bolin to steady herself. “Are you sure this was a good idea?”

“Positive,” Mako answered, holding onto a nearby shelf himself, “it’s enchanted—only people in the library can feel or hear any of this.”

The entire chamber seemed to rumble as the bookshelf sprang alive. The floor quaked violently (Korra was grateful Sokka had led Wan Shi Tong out of the library, for there was no hiding this) as the shelf finished its revolution, swinging forward ninety degrees to reveal a thick wall of ice. There were two straps of what appeared to be darker colored ice that ran perpendicular to the wall, sealed off by a large, six-pointed snowflake that looked as if it were carved of ivory; it looked something like ribbons on a Christmas present.

Korra and Bolin glanced at each other quizzically.

Meanwhile, Mako looked flabbergasted.

“W-what? B-b-but…this is supposed to be the Vault of Fear,” he spluttered.

Bolin blanched. “I’m sorry, the _what?_ ”

“I-I asked about everything there was to ask on the Cursed Vaults—the Vault of Ice is supposed to be on the fifth floor, not here,” Mako continued, as though there had been no interruption.

“Are you going to explain to us what any of this is at some point?” Korra inquired, picking the Invisibility Cloak off the floor (it had slipped off during the upheaval).

Mako blinked rapidly.

“Oh, err, right. Well, Kya told me that Aang hid a written copy of the prophecy inside of a vault in the Restricted Section. I’ve never seen a vault here, so I did some outside research—” given Mako’s propensity for criminal activity, Korra wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what ‘outside research’ was “—and I found out there are five vaults here at Hogwarts, used to hide powerful artefacts and other secrets. Nobody knows where they came from or why they’re here but—each one is protected with loads of curses. Normal wizards can’t just waltz in. But,” there was a distinct note of concern in his voice, “there are specific locations for each of them, and this one isn’t supposed to be here.”

“Maybe the professors changed the locations to throw people off?” Korra suggested. “D’you know how to get past this one?”

Mako, who was still processing the unexpected turn of events, nodded shortly.

“I know how to get inside but…I don’t know if we can handle what’s waiting on the other side.”

Bolin was as pale as Sokka at this point. “H-how do we know what we need is inside this one? What if it’s in the other one—and how are we going to find that one?”

Mako shook his head. “Dunno. We might as well start here.”

“Do we really have to?” Bolin protested weakly, but Mako was already drawing his wand.

“Jacob said that a normal Fire-Making Spell sets the curses off,” Mako explained as he began twirling his wand in a circular motion, “but I don’t think he realized he was talking to a fire mage.”

 _Who the hell is Jacob?_ Korra wondered, but she had no time to dwell on the thought.

Mako swung his wand around in a sharp motion, and a powerful gust of flames burst from the tip.

Korra watched in awe as the six-pointed snowflake, rather than melting, condensed into sparkling crystals which soon faded into nothingness; this was followed by the sheet of ice evaporating altogether. In its absence lay a long, narrow hallway, illuminated by lanterns along the walls.

The trio glanced at one another.

“Quickly,” Mako pressed, gesturing for them to enter the corridor.

“Are you sure about this?” Bolin asked shakily, but he complied anyway.

“Can you close it? I don’t want any loose-ends.” Mako was looking at Korra.

“Err, how do I do that exactly?”

“We’ll need to close this first,” Mako replied absentmindedly, replacing _Love amongst the Dragons_ on the bookshelf. This time, to their shock, there was no commotion, and the shelf swung shut with little protest. “And now, some ice.”

Korra stared. “ _Some_ _ice_?”

Mako rolled his eyes. “The space is enchanted—if you cast some ice at it, it should mend itself.”

Korra continued to gaze at Mako skeptically before sighing and rolling up her sleeves.

“All right,” she relented, holding the Invisibility Cloak out to him.

Shooting Mako one last look of doubt, Korra brought her wand down in an x-motion, conjuring a flurry of what appeared to be glittering blue jewels. Fueled by a pulse of aura, Korra thrust her wand forward—the cloud of sapphire burst into shards of ice. They hurtled forward like daggers before stopping abruptly, suspended in mid-air; then, as though possessed by a tornado, they began gyrating, swirling, swirling, swirling—

With a flash of light, the ice barrier stood before them again.

“Brilliant,” Mako grinned at Korra, who responded in kind as she pocketed her wand.

“W-what’s waiting inside?” Bolin stuttered as his brother began leading the way.

“You’ll see,” was all Mako said.

After what felt like an hour of aimless walking, the trio found themselves in a small, dimly-lit room. Along its perimeter were statues of knights, as well as suits of armor, some on marble platforms and others mounted on the walls. At the center was what looked like an oversized lantern, glowing brilliantly; the light it emitted was too intense to directly look at, almost as if someone had trapped the sun inside.

Bolin exhaled in relief.

“That’s not so bad.”

He spoke too soon.

One of the suits of armor began rumbling—

“What the bloody hell is that?” Bolin yelped in panic.

“The guardian,” Mako answered gravely, drawing his wand.

The vibrating suit of armor rose into the air, its separate components swirling around in a sort of ring above them before materializing into a colossal knight, comprised entirely of ice.

The blood drained from Bolin’s face.

“Please tell me we don’t have to fight that.”

“We have to fight that.”

The Ice Knight towered above the trio, and Korra wondered if her body could handle another thrashing so soon. The being gazed down menacingly at them, studying each of them as though scanning their intentions—Korra didn’t doubt that it could—before drawing its weapon.

It was a massive sword, a cerulean-tinted scimitar at least twice as tall as Mako and thin as—well, ice; agate patterns danced along its sides in the shape of runes—they probably were—and Korra wished she’d paid more attention in Ancient Runes.

The Ice Knight began circling them, holding the sword out with both hands.

“Do you know how to defeat it?” Korra whispered to Mako as she drew her own wand.

She didn’t know why she was whispering, it didn’t exactly matter if the Knight heard her or not—

Or apparently it did, for the Knight stilled.

Its gaze fell on Korra.

She paled, lowering her wand for a moment—it wasn’t intentional, her hands were shaking so much—she screwed her eyes shut—

_This is how I die, isn’t it?_

Then, suddenly—

“Is it—is it _bowing_ to you?” Mako gaped.

Korra opened one eye.

To her immense disbelief, the Ice Knight was kneeling before her. It had plunged its scimitar into the ground (Korra wasn’t sure if it was entirely opaque in the first place) and was leaning on one knee, head bowed.

**_Welcome, Chosen One._ **

The Knight hadn’t quite spoken, but the words seem to echo around the tiny chamber, a sort of soundless voice etched into their minds.

Well, that settled Korra’s doubts.

“What a relief,” Bolin mumbled before collapsing onto the floor.

Korra glanced questioningly at Mako who shrugged.

“Nobody told me anything about this.”

“Right,” Korra muttered.

_That’s how it always is with this._

“Err…you may rise?” she continued uncertainly. The Knight obliged, clambering to its feet. The room shook, causing Mako to nearly topple over Bolin (who was still on the floor). “Erm…is it all right if my friends and I look at the prophecy?”

**_Of course._ **

Korra glanced over her shoulder at the lantern at the center of the room. “Err, how do we do that exactly?”

**_It will yield to your touch._ **

The Ice Knight looked out of place and almost comical at this point. It was standing before them with its arms crossed nonchalantly, as if having a conversation with tiny teenaged humans was part of its daily routine.

“Great. Uh, thanks.” Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “You can go now?” she chanced.

**_As you wish._ **

With a bright burst of blue, the Ice Knight was reduced to an immobile suit of armor once again.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Bolin commented as he rose to his feet, brushing himself off.

“Says the bloke who almost fainted,” Mako snickered.

“Shut up,” Bolin scowled, shoving his brother.

“Will you two can it? We’re here for a reason,” Korra reminded them, irritably.

Mako was still smirking but they both fell silent.

Korra exhaled through her mouth, and began walking forward.

“I’m…I’m going to do it,” she announced, to no one.

Neither of the brothers had asked. They were both gazing at her expectantly.

“Here I go.”

But it was several more moments before Korra mustered the courage to approach the giant lantern. She had to shield her eyes, for the light was so strong it was giving her a headache.

With one last hesitant glance behind her, Korra extended her hand—

Her fingertips had barely grazed the edge of the lantern before a blinding flash of light filled the chamber.

It was several moments before Korra could open her eyes again, and when she did, the lantern was no more.

It had peeled back like a blossoming lotus to reveal a floating scroll.

 _It looks damaged,_ Korra noted in alarm.

The brothers exchanged an apprehensive glance.

“Well, go on then,” Mako advised, sounding a lot braver than he was acting. He was still several feet away, all but cowering behind a dormant suit of armor alongside Bolin.

“Right.”

Korra took a deep breath, reached out—and in one quick motion—snatched the scroll out of the air.

She closed her eyes, expecting another burst of light—or tremor—or some other grandiose display of defensive magic.

When none came, she opened her eyes and motioned for the brothers to join her.

“This is it,” Korra breathed.

She met each of her companion’s gazes. Mako, eager, determined; Bolin, curious, nervous. Korra identified with all of the above.

With a shaky breath, she unraveled the scroll.

From its arc, Korra could tell at once that the prophecy had definitely been tampered with—the scroll ended too abruptly, as though half of it had been torn off.

“We’ll work with what we’ve got,” Mako supplied, when Korra gazed at him forlornly. “Let’s just see what it says.”

The written copy of the prophecy was exactly what it sounded like—someone had copied down the prophecy verbatim. Korra suspected it was Aang himself, from the erratic handwriting that was as far from calligraphy as England was from the South Pole.

The scroll read:

_Wizardry will see the rise of Slytherin’s heir:_

_A new Dark Lord,_

_Leaving the world worse for wear._

_When he passes—a fatal wound to his head—_

_He’ll leave a line of monsters_

_To rule in his stead._

_Only the Chosen One,_

_One with the sky, a man of heart,_

_Master of all four elements, can eclipse their sun;_

_One with the power to tear the world apart,_

_He comes wielding a weapon beyond us all._

_But when the world needs him most—_

_He’ll vanish._

_When he returns, a living ghost,_

_He’ll vanquish the Dark Lord,_

_He who is bound to him_

_By the same core._

_And when the Chosen passes,_

“What? That—that can’t be it,” Korra cried.

She spun the scroll around—but the back was blank. The bottom had been teared off rather harshly, as though done in haste. Korra looked around wildly, hoping the prophecy was continued somewhere else, but the room was devoid of any further information.

_This could mean anything—how am I connected to all of this?_

“Someone was here before us,” Mako commented darkly.

An air of foreboding settled over the chamber.

Bolin had fallen to the floor again.

Korra shivered.

“C-c’mon,” she stuttered after a moment, rolling up the scroll. She deposited it into her bookbag and turned back to the brothers. “We got what we came for. Let’s get going. Dinner must be over by now—everyone is probably wondering where we went.”

Korra had a few guesses as to who, but hoped none of them were correct.


	9. Hallowe'en

“Korra—Korra, come quick!”

Korra was entirely unprepared for Jinora to crash headfirst into her at seven in the morning.

“Oof! Ugh, wh—” Korra’s grogginess dissipated when she caught sight of the urgency on Jinora’s face. “Jinora? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I-I don’t have time to explain—you have to come with me!”

So, with sleep still in her eyes and a rumble in her stomach, Korra clambered after Jinora.

For a wild moment, Korra feared that Amon had finally attacked Hogwarts—and feared, more than anything, she was unprepared to meet this challenge—

But as they turned the corner and arrived in the Entrance Hall, those concerns were put to rest—and replaced by new ones.

“What?” Korra gaped.

Before her, a group of perhaps thirty students was engaged in verbal arguments with fifteen or so task force members; a number of arguments were turning violent. Some of the students were holding signs—others, banners—but all were wearing black t-shirts bearing the task force insignia inside a circle-backslash.

 _They’re all muggle-borns,_ Korra realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. _Mako’s vision…_

“What’s going on here?” she demanded in the most authoritative tone she could manage.

Only, her voice was still raspy with somnolence, and her hair was sticking up in all directions.

A handful of muggle-borns and some of the task force members—mainly the adults—spared Korra a glance, but the rest paid her no mind.

_Slytherins. Of course. Just my luck._

“You can’t stop us from arranging a peaceful protest! This is the oppression we’re fighting!” one of the students, perhaps the leader, cried.

“Yeah!”

“You’re just bullies!”

“We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“We know our rights!”

“Yeah, your right to remain silent,” Tahno sneered.

Korra mentally groaned.

_Of course, he’s here._

The Slytherins guffawed at that, hi-fiving each other.

Korra sighed and raised her wand.

Red sparks shot out of the tip like gunshots, causing the quarreling parties to leap apart in shock.

“That’s enough,” Korra barked, shoving her way into the center of the conflict. She turned on Tahno, who seemed to be the ringleader of the task force goons, and pointed her wand at him. “You and your minions better back off.”

Tahno didn’t look remotely intimidated.

“Here to protect your little pets?” he sneered. “Everyone knows the Southern Wizarding Tribe loves their mudblood filth.”

“Shut up—don’t call them that!” Korra hissed, pressing the tip of her wand against his throat.

Tahno gazed down at her wand and then back at Korra; his lip curled, but he said nothing, recognizing his own susceptibility. Then, his eyes swiveled up, and he smirked.

Korra glanced around. A crowd was beginning to form around them—amongst it, Asami. Behind her, edging his way in—

“Korra, step away from your comrade. He’s just following orders,” the newcomer commanded in a syrupy tone that made Korra want to vomit.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Tarrlok—Professor—what are you playing at? You can’t just attack muggle-born students for no reason.”

This seemed to be news to Tarrlok.

“But I’m not—this is an Equalist rally, Korra. I’m just enforcing security.”

Korra’s wand nearly snapped in her hand.

“ _What?_ These are innocent students—they’re just upset about the way your shitty little task force has been treating them these past few weeks. They have a right to protest!”

Tarrlok raised an eyebrow.

His gaze was cold, unyielding, and Korra realized it was the first time she’d spoken out so brazenly against a professor. Still, she wasn’t going to concede that easily, so she maintained eye contact, scowling up at Tarrlok’s callous face.

A chill abruptly passed over Korra—almost as though Tarrlok had reached inside of her mind. She didn’t doubt that he had.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” he simpered after a moment.

_What? What did he—oh, shit—did he see something about Asami?_

Korra gritted her teeth. “Of course, I believe it! I’m not going anywhere until you let these students go!”

Tarrlok’s smirk only widened at that. The knot in Korra’s stomach tightened.

“Oh, was I holding them captive? I wasn’t aware…” he trailed off in a sing-song voice. 

Then, to Korra’s horror—

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

Every single protestor went stiff as a rod, limbs snapping together, before they fell to the floor. The crowd gasped.

“This is what you’d call captivity, no?”

The muggle-borns’ eyes were wide with fear, swiveling around wildly, beseeching those around them—

“Leave them alone! _Finite Incantatem!_ ”

Korra had cast the counter-curse mindlessly—didn’t think her magic was actually strong enough to outperform Tarrlok’s—

By some stroke of luck, all the captive students had regained control of their bodies, gasping for breath as the curse wore off. They patted themselves incredulously, as though in disbelief that their bodies belonged to them again; Korra shared the sentiment.

_How did I…?_

Korra didn’t have time to finish her thought.

Tarrlok was glaring at her, baring his teeth—then, with a growl—

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_

_Really? Again?_

But Tarrlok hadn’t gone for the protestors this time—

“NO!” Korra gasped.

A look of sheer terror crossed Asami’s face before her limbs snapped together. The crowd shrieked, leaning away from her paralyzed form, which hurtled towards the floor—Tarrlok grabbed a hold of her arm before she hit the ground, but his grip on her was much too tight—

_No—no, not her—_

Korra saw red.

“LET HER GO!” she roared, brandishing her wand.

She hadn’t actually uttered anything—but Asami’s limbs gave way, anyway. The heiress shoved away from Tarrlok, who staggered backwards, not expecting the sudden assault.

Korra raced over and lodged herself between them so that Asami was behind her.

“Are you okay?” Korra breathed, glancing over her shoulder.

“F-fine,” Asami managed to choke out. She was clearly still in shock.

Tarrlok chuckled.

“You’re more loyal than I thought,” he murmured. There was a sort of cruel amusement on his face. Then, he leaned down, so that his face was just beside Korra’s, and whispered, “Can you say the same about your friend?”

The blood drained from Korra’s face, and she turned away from Asami quickly.

“You’d better cut this out before I get Tenzin,” Korra snarled. “Let’s see what your colleagues have to say about all of this.”

Tarrlok’s smirk vanished. He glowered down at her, wand sparking wildly, quivering in his grip—

But Tarrlok recognized a threat when he saw one—‘Tenzin’ implied Lin, Kya, Suyin, Bumi—so he conceded, begrudgingly.  

Smoothening out his robes, he called out, “Task force, retreat. You’re dismissed.”

The task force members looked disgruntled. They glanced at one another before acquiescing, grumbling discontentedly to themselves as they emptied out of the hall.

Asami grabbed Korra’s forearm—they looked at each other in relief—

Then, Tarrlok turned on the muggle-borns.

“Detention!” he barked. “Every last one of you. Now, beat it.”

“You can’t—”

“Oh, but I can,” Tarrlok cut Korra off, eyes glinting triumphantly. “It’s a school day—they’re not wearing appropriate attire.”

_This son of a—_

But he wasn’t wrong. None of them were wearing their robes, or even their House apparel.

The muggle-borns’ shoulders slumped.

Recognizing the end of the spectacle, the crowd began dying out. After a moment or two, the protestors followed them. Jinora was still waiting for Korra, who was rooted to the spot.

Tarrlok cocked an eyebrow smugly at Korra, as though daring her to defy him further.

She glared at him, but, feeling Asami’s hand tug at her forearm, relented, and allowed Asami to lead her out of the hall.

“Sorry for dragging you into this,” Jinora said once she had caught up with the girls. “I didn’t know who else to go to. You did great, though—you were like a hero!”

Korra didn’t know how to feel—was it truly a victory on her part?

Then, one of the muggle-borns muttered something under his breath as he passed her, and Korra knew she’d lost.

“We don’t need your pity, pureblood.” 

               

* * *

 

The rest of the month passed without any further excitement.

Research had taken the back-burner again, as Tarrlok had unleashed a barrage of assignments in response to Korra’s ‘insolence’ (busy work, in essence). Moreover, classes remained dreadful, content increasing in difficulty as exam season approached (Korra had accepted that she was going to flunk out of N.E.W.T. Potions at this point). Korra continued to avoid Tenzin (though she sorely missed him), who responded in kind.

The student response to the task force grew more divided after the student protest and attack on the orphanage, purebloods demanding its expansion while the muggle-borns called for its disbandment; the latter claimed it was one of the many reasons the Equalist movement had gained momentum in the first place (Korra didn’t disagree). The half-bloods remained as conflicted as ever.

There was some respite to this dispute on the thirty-first, as all students had been looking forward to the Hallowe’en feast after months of academic toil and depressing news. Even the task force members seemed cheerier than usual, managing to bite back insults whenever muggle-borns passed their posts (Korra _had_ chastised the student task force plenty, regardless of whether they actually heeded her instructions).

“Oh, I can’t wait to see what they’re serving this year!” Bolin gushed to Korra and Opal as they made their way to the Great Hall.

He had recovered significantly in the last two weeks, though Korra still caught him gazing down forlornly from time to time. Mako was no different, trying to mask his wounds behind a strong front, gazing off into the distance whenever he thought no one was looking. Korra had to pretend that she didn’t notice these things; from time to time, she would find herself peering into their minds unconsciously—and then had to backtrack quickly and feign unawareness.

Korra had no control over her Legilimency, and without Tenzin’s guidance, had no hope of learning how to harness it usefully.

“Glad to see some things haven’t changed, love,” Opal sighed, patting her boyfriend’s chest.

“As long as they have bison steak, I’ll be happy,” Korra interjected.

However, she was soon proved wrong.

When they entered the Great Hall, it was all but bustling with life. All four House tables were engaged in animated conversation, House ghosts (Sokka included) were performing some kind of formation gliding, and some of the professors had even dressed up. Bumi looked ecstatic, wearing some kind of skintight jumpsuit (Korra couldn’t tell what he was trying to be); he was leaping about his younger brother like a monkey. Tenzin looked aggravated, as usual, and, to Korra’s disbelief, was donning a pair of devil horns. (Kya and Lin were pointing and laughing.)

The floating candles were back in the Great Hall (Korra had missed them), sparking wildly every once in a while to scare students. The Enchanted Ceiling was gloomy, sporting a sort of noir look to it; the illusion of a full moon, peeking out from dark clouds, cast the hall in harsh lighting, drawing shadows across everyone’s faces. The House banners had been replaced with four Hallowe’en themed ones—Slytherin had bats, Ravenclaw had skeletons, Hufflepuff had pumpkins, and Gryffindor had gravestones. In the background, the soundtrack of some muggle Hallowe’en film was being blasted over the entire hall.

The house-elves had outdone themselves this year, as, in addition to the mountains of wizard candy, orange streamers, and water snakes on every House table, there were food items from all over the world. (Korra even spotted arctic hen, a Southern Wizarding Tribe classic.)

But Asami was nowhere in sight, and Korra found that she cared little for bison steak with this turn of events.

“What’s wrong?” Mako probed when he noticed Korra wasn’t eating.

“Asami,” Korra replied, poking at her empty plate.

“What’s wrong with Asami?” Mako inquired through a mouthful of komodo sausages.

Korra scowled at him. “Do you even remember that you’re dating her?”

Mako paused, lowering his goblet.

“Err…did I do something…?”

Korra sighed and rose to her feet. “No, and that’s the problem.”

“What?”

But she was already making her way out of the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

“I thought I might find you here.”

Asami jumped violently—Korra feared she would topple over the edge of the tower—

Fortunately, she didn’t, and turned to face Korra with a bashful grin.

The moonlight gleamed off Asami’s skin—she was perspiring, Korra noticed, and out of breath. Asami had her wand out.

“Practicing something?” Korra asked conversationally, shutting the door to the stairwell behind her.

“Uh…” Asami’s eyes darted around for an escape. When she found none, she nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. My Patronus,” she admitted.

Korra raised her eyebrows as she approached Asami.

“You’re missing the feast for that?”

Asami bit her lip coyly.

“I just…feel like I might need it soon. Y’know,” she gestured vaguely, “with everything going on.”

Korra was momentarily seized by the image of Dementors swooping out of the building before it burst into flames.

 _Right_ , she thought bitterly. _I had a vision about this. I just forgot. I might’ve been able to stop it…_

“Korra? You there?”

Asami was waving a hand in Korra’s face.

Korra smiled tightly.

“Yeah.” She shook her head. Sought a distraction. “Want some help?”

Asami hesitated. “Um…”

She looked…afraid, almost.

Korra frowned.

Something wasn’t right. Asami was doing it again—that nervous tick.

Had something happened?

**I’m just going to disappoint her, like everyone else in my life…**

Korra looked away quickly, hoping Asami hadn’t noticed.

 _Don’t look into her eyes, stupid._ Korra paused. Reconsidered. _It might be weird to have this conversation without doing so, though._

“Look,” Korra began gently. “I just want to help you. It’s okay if you don’t want to—this is entirely up to you. You could never disappoint me,” she added.

Asami glanced up in surprise.

**She doesn’t mean that.**

“I mean it.”

Korra was grateful that the moon had disappeared behind the clouds again—she didn’t want Asami to see her wince.

_I am completely abusing this right now._

 Asami studied Korra intently, as though searching for reproach or reluctance or—anything, really, that proved she was unworthy of Korra’s faith.

When she found none, she asked cautiously, “Are you sure? I’m…a slow learner.”

Nothing could’ve prepared Korra for what she saw next.

_“Maybe if you were talented enough, then you would know how to use water magic properly,” Hiroshi snarled, before striking a little girl across the face._

_“I gave you a wand for a reason. You can’t do anything right, can you? Stupid cunt.”_

_Asami was nine._

Korra resurfaced quickly, glancing at Asami in panic. Had she noticed?

If she had, she didn’t let it show—she was now gazing at the ground forlornly.

Korra gritted her teeth.

She was shaking, she was trying not to, trying to hold it back, but she was _furious_ —

 _She was a_ child _—she wasn’t supposed to know how to use her magic at all, let alone how to use_ elemental magic _,_ Korra thought to herself, hands curling into fists at her sides. Her vision was growing blurry—red at the edges— _Who the hell does that jackass think he is, hitting—_

Then, Korra sighed.

Uncurled her fists.

She couldn’t let Asami see that she was angry. It would, one, expose her snooping, and two, more importantly, derail every reassurance she’d just uttered and backfire on this attempt to alleviate the consequences of Asami’s trauma altogether.

Korra waited until she had regained her composure to approach Asami.

“I’m so sure,” she whispered, taking the heiress’s hands in hers—

Asami jumped—Korra winced. Now she knew why—knew why Asami always preferred to initiate physical contact herself—why she always apologized more than anything.

“I don’t care,” Korra continued softly. “I think you’re brilliant.”

Asami was quiet for several moments.

Then—

“My dad thinks I’m a disappointment.”

 _I know,_ Korra wanted to say.

“He’s wrong,” was all she said.

Asami’s hands were still stiff in Korra’s.

“When I was six…a fire mage attacked our home,” Asami began in a shaky voice. “I…I don’t know why…but he killed my mother. Sent the whole house up in flames. My mom told me to run—that she would hold him off and come find me after. I believed her, so I did...” Asami’s voice choked. “But she never came.”

Korra didn’t know what to do, couldn’t possibly fathom what to say, so she squeezed Asami’s hands.

“My dad…he used to be so nice to me. He was really into his work—he’d tell me and my mom facts about broomstick manufacturing over dinner all the time. But after that night—he wasn’t at home, when it happened, too busy at work—everything changed. He was always angry—always drinking. Nothing I did was good enough for him. Everything was my fault. Every mistake I made was worse than the last—according to him. ‘Maybe if you were talented enough, then’—blah blah blah. That’s all he ever said. And eventually, I started believing him.”

Asami’s grip on Korra’s hands grew vice-like. Korra wanted to cry out in pain—until she realized Asami was using her hold on Korra to quell her own tears. Korra bit down on her lip to silence herself.

“My mom always told me to believe in myself over anyone else,” Asami said at last, when she’d managed to steady her voice. Then, her eyes hardened. “But she lied.”

Asami wasn’t looking at Korra—her eyes were trained on the ground—so Korra had no idea about what. (She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know—or rather, that she should.)

“Your mom was right about that, though. You have to base your image of you off yourself, not anyone else,” Korra chanced carefully.

Asami’s head snapped up—her eyes were ablaze—

Korra recoiled, and the flame in Asami’s eyes died immediately.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, loosening her grip on Korra’s hands to squeeze them gingerly. “You didn’t…you didn’t say anything wrong.”

“You sure?” Korra teased nervously.

Asami’s lips twitched. She didn’t laugh, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long, but…what you think of me really matters to me,” Asami confessed after a moment. “So…it’s always weird to me that you like me—like, actually like me—not just because I’m rich or pretty or famous. I…I don’t want to let you down. I don’t want you to think any less of me.”

Korra was stunned—not just by the confession, but because she related to it more than she’d initially believed. Two months of knowing each other, nearly one of which, Korra had spent unnecessarily resenting the girl before her. Now, she realized, Asami meant more to her than—than a month of friendship should’ve merited.

“I won’t, I promise,” Korra murmured.

The air was frigid, just on the cusp of winter weather, but the space between them was warm.

Asami searched Korra’s eyes, and then offered a tiny smile.

“Then…I’ll take you up on that.”

Korra grinned. “Your wish is my command.”

She had to demonstrate the Patronus Charm to Asami at least five times before the heiress was ready to try it herself. Drained, Korra leaned on her knees as she watched Asami cast her own Patronus.

She’d definitely improved since their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson ages ago, managing to cast a wispy funnel of silver. It wasn’t quite an Incorporeal Patronus, but it wasn’t too far off. Asami’s form was significantly better, as well, but it wasn’t quite what Korra had suggested, leaving her to wonder if Asami had even been paying attention during her demonstration (both instances).

“Err, almost.” Korra got to her feet. “Are you—are you okay if I show you how to do it, up close?”

Then, she grimaced—she’d never explicitly asked for permission to touch Asami before.

Thankfully, the heiress didn’t notice, and nodded her consent.

Korra stepped behind Asami, wrapping a hand delicately around each of her wrists. She felt Asami straighten against her.

“Relax,” Korra whispered into Asami’s ear. “Being all wound up isn’t good form for casting a Patronus.”

After a few seconds, Asami complied, but her hands were still trembling.

“Now, make sure you move your wand counter-clock wise—like this.” Korra moved Asami’s hand—left hand, she remembered this time—in a circular motion. “See? Just like that.” She did it again, and again. “When you’re about to cast the charm, focus all of your aura on your wand. I know they say that’s bad technique and tiring and makes your spells explosive or whatever, but you kind of have to for this one. It’s like an explosion itself. Oh—and widen your stance, too.” Korra used her foot to broaden Asami’s stance, her thigh brushing against the back of Asami’s.

There was a sharp inhale—Asami stiffened again.

“Relax,” Korra breathed.

Asami complied.

“Show me.”

Asami did.

“All right, that looks good,” Korra said with a nod, stepping away from Asami. The latter was slightly red in the face. “Now, pick a happy memory.”

“I got one,” Asami said after some deliberation.

She was gazing at Korra fondly.

“G-good,” Korra stuttered. She cleared her throat. “Um, go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.”

Asami took a deep breath. She widened her stance, crouched, and, with a spectacular wave of her wand, cried, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

A great funnel of silver burst from the tip of her wand—there was no denying it was an Incorporeal Patronus. It held for several seconds before dissipating, leaving an elated Korra in its wake.

“Did you see that?” she cried, leaping all about Asami (it was reminiscent of Bumi at the feast). “You did it! You did it!”

Asami looked as if she’d been struck over the head with a Bludger.

After a few minutes, the look of awe melted into one of grim disappointment. She bit her lip.

“It wasn’t a Corporeal Patronus, though,” she pointed out quietly.

Korra’s grin vanished.

Her shoulders slumped.

“Oh….is that what you were going for?”

Asami lowered her wand and looked away.

“I-I know it might not be in the books for someone like…me. But,” Asami stole a glance at Korra, “I want to be able to…protect someone, in case…in case Amon attacks.” 

Korra blanched at the mere prospect.

“He won’t,” she responded, sounding a lot more confident than she felt.

She knelt down, feigning exhaustion to hide the fact that her legs had gone weak.

“He might,” Asami countered bitterly. “And if he does, an Incorporeal Patronus might hold off a Dementor or two—but it won’t be of any real use in a fight. Amon’s got a whole army of them.”

Korra was silent for several minutes.

Asami wasn’t wrong—Korra just wished she was.

Finally, she sighed, and rose to her feet.

“Okay. Let’s go, again.”

Asami blinked rapidly. “What?”

“If you want to cast a Corporeal Patronus, you’re going to cast a Corporeal Patronus. I don’t care how long it takes, but we’re staying up here until you do,” Korra declared.

Asami stared.

Korra stared back resolutely.

Then, Asami lowered her gaze.

She was smiling, Korra noted. She felt a smile of her own coming on.

“C’mon, again.”

It took many more ‘again’s before Asami was out of breath (Korra was impressed by the heiress’s stamina, she outclassed any of their peers, easily). She looked—actually, she still looked rather elegant. Her raven hair, which was sticking up in many places (somehow becoming), shimmered in the moonlight.

“I can’t do it,” Asami panted, leaning on her knees for support.

Korra, who, admittedly, had mostly been watching Asami and occasionally offering input, frowned.

“Don’t say that. C’mon, just take a minute to gather yourself. Or, we could take a break if you want?” she offered.

Asami shook her head. “I feel like I’m just not getting it. Maybe I don’t have what it takes.”

Korra’s frown deepened. “That can’t be right. You’re literally the most gifted witch I know.”

Asami’s lips twitched with a hint of self-deprecating humor.

“Thanks, but we’ve been at this for hours, and I haven’t managed a single Corporeal Patronus—or even half of one,” she retorted cynically.

“Just because you didn’t get something down on the first try doesn’t mean you can’t do it.”

To her disbelief, Asami rolled her eyes.

“Tell that to yourself,” she muttered.

Korra raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

Asami stood up straight and faced Korra.

“You keep telling me that you’re bad at Charms—but you’re not. I’ve seen you cast plenty of charms without batting an eye.”

Korra rubbed her shoulder self-consciously.

“Those are…those are just combative spells. I’ve always been good at that,” she deflected.

Asami shook her head. “I’ve seen you mend things, I’ve seen you make things float. Whenever you don’t think about it, you do it well. You can do it—you just don’t think you can.”

Korra stared at Asami.

Pretty, out of breath Asami. Pretty, out of breath, down-in-the-dumps Asami who still managed to lecture her on her own hypocrisy.

“Fine,” Korra relented at last. “You’re not wrong. I’ll…I’ll try harder in Charms. But,” she approached Asami and stuck out her pinky, “if I do, you have to agree to try one more time.”

Asami regarded Korra with a poised eyebrow.

“Are you really making me pinky promise you that?”

“Does it look like I’m bluffing?”

Korra wiggled her pinky in Asami’s face.

Asami stared—and then burst out laughing. She rolled her eyes again, good-naturedly this time.

“Fine,” she agreed, hooking her pinky around Korra’s. “I’ll try again— _once_ —and you have to stop dragging your feet about Charms.”

Korra nodded with a triumphant grin. Pleased, she continued, “Why don’t you pick a new memory? That always works for me.”

“Okay,” Asami agreed uncertainly.

It was several moments before the heiress spoke again.

“I think…I think I have one,” she said slowly.

She wouldn’t look directly at Korra, leaving the latter to wonder what it was. Korra almost wished Asami would look at her—and then promptly chastised herself for thinking so.

_It’s not a toy, and Asami isn’t a book._

Korra stepped away.

“All right, whenever you’re ready.”

Asami gazed at Korra a moment longer before she turned around. She screwed her eyes shut in concentration—the image was rather endearing, Korra thought—before taking a deep breath.

She opened her eyes, did everything Korra said—widened her stance, relaxed, twirled her wand in a counter-clockwise motion—

_“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

Korra had to shield her eyes for a few seconds, the light from Asami’s wand was so strong. (It reminded her of the lantern from the Vault of Ice.) When she looked again, to her utter astonishment, a magnificent, silver cat-deer floated before her.

Korra’s jaw dropped.

It took Asami a while to react, to actually realize that this was the product of her own doing—

Then, she mirrored Korra’s expression.

The cat-deer tilted its head at them, as though seeking a mission. When it recognized there wasn’t one, it kicked off—prancing along the edge of the astronomy tower before vanishing into the night, leaving a trail of shimmering dust in its wake.

The pair stared at the spot where the cat-deer had disappeared for an eternity.

Finally—

“You did it!” Korra cried gleefully.

She charged at Asami, grabbed her hands, and began jumping up and down in delight.

“I-I did?” Asami mumbled incoherently, still slack-jawed. She looked numb, bobbing every once in a while as a result of Korra’s excitement.

The heiress was still blinking, coming to—recognizing that the fruits of her labor had paid off. When the realization dawned on her, a wide grin spread across her face, and it was nothing short of stunning.

“I did it! I DID IT!” Asami shouted. She joined Korra in leaping about. “ _We_ did it!”

Korra wagged her head. “No way—that was all you!”

“You taught me!” Asami shot back, tugging Korra’s arms playfully.

“Yeah, but you executed!”

“Yeah, but you…” Asami trailed off, looking away.

Her cheeks were flushed.

Korra waited, but Asami never finished her sentence, so she conceded, “Okay, fine. _We_ did it.”

She squeezed Asami’s hands before releasing them. Thoroughly fatigued (it was perhaps midnight now, and Korra had woken early for patrol duty), Korra dropped down onto the edge of the tower.

When Asami gave her a quizzical look, Korra patted the spot beside her. “Sit with me. We’ve earned a breather.”

Asami chuckled, rolling her eyes as if to say, ‘You didn’t do much,’ but she obliged.

It was a chilly evening, but the wind was welcome—both girls were overheated (Korra was always warm). The Forbidden Forest was peaceful, the commotion from the feast seemed to have died down, and there were a thousand glittering gems in the night sky above them, which seemed to stretch on endlessly. All in all, it was almost completely silent (save for owls hooting occasionally).

In the stillness, Korra could hear Asami breathing, and found solace in its rhythm.

After a while, Asami stole a glance at Korra. When Korra returned her gaze, the heiress turned away hastily, embarrassed at being caught.

“Something on your mind?” Korra teased.

Asami looked up at her again before averting her gaze.

“I’m…I’m sorry I made you miss the feast,” she muttered almost inaudibly.

Korra had completely forgotten it was Hallowe’en.

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Korra replied, waving dismissively. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

And she was.

Asami seemed startled by this information.

After a beat, she smiled, kicking her feet.

“I’ve never had a memory powerful enough to cast a Patronus before,” Asami confessed.

With what Korra had seen earlier, she didn’t doubt that.

“I’m glad you found one?”

Asami nodded. “Me too.” A pause. A glance at Korra. “Y’know…maybe I’m…maybe I _am_ too hard on myself.” Another pause. Another glance at Korra.  “And others.”

Korra looked at Asami questioningly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Asami bit her lip. “I think…some people…blame themselves too much for something…out of their control. And, uh…I guess I did, too, for a while.”

Korra’s eyebrows inched towards her hairline, but she said nothing.

“I…I expected the…uh, someone to protect us,” Asami continued. “Me and my mom, I mean. But they didn’t.”

“Your dad?” Korra asked, unsure.

“O-oh, yeah. My dad,” Asami clarified, but it sounded more like she was…agreeing? “I used to resent him for—for most of my life, actually. For not protecting us. But, I don’t…think it was his fault. I think I expected too much of him…he’s only human.”

This gave Korra pause.

It wasn’t the information so much as Asami’s tone—it’d changed completely from the one before. No longer dismal, ashamed, miserable—rather, hopeful? Korra wasn’t entirely sure they were talking about the same person anymore.

“Well…I think it’s normal to expect that from one’s father,” Korra said slowly.

 _But honestly, you_ should _be way harder on him—you_ should _still resent him_ , was what Korra wanted to say. Her hands were curled into fists again. _You deserve better._

“He was so young, though,” Asami mused. “Err, young—younger, back then. He didn’t know.”

Korra raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t know he was supposed to protect his wife and child?”

_Why does it feel like we’re not talking about her dad?_

“No, I mean, yeah—well…err…” Asami buried her face in her hands. “Never mind, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Korra wanted to pursue the topic—wanted to tell Asami right then and there that she shouldn’t be enabling the actions of her abuser, that this was part of a destructive cycle, that forgiving him or trying to rationalize his actions would only work against her in the end, that that was exactly what he wanted—

Korra let out a deep breath.

Even if all that were true and applied, they would have to have that conversation at Asami’s pace. Glancing at Asami, who refused to resurface from behind her hands, that would have to be another time.

So Korra sighed, again, and leaned back on her arms.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

It was a while before Asami emerged, and even when she did, she was timid, glancing at Korra out of the corner of her eyes. She folded her hands in her lap, opting to gaze down at them instead of outwards, at the courtyard, or to her left, at Korra.

So, instead, Korra looked at Asami.

Her side profile was—breathtaking, there was no other word for it. The smooth curve of her jaw, the delicate slope of her nose, the velvet of her lips, all cast in a gentle glow—

Korra suddenly realized Asami wasn’t wearing make-up–that this was the first time she was seeing the heiress without any maquillage. The sharp line of her eyes, the dark curve of her brow, the harsh contour of her cheekbones—all soft, under the moonlight, porcelain, ethereal. Asami’s eyes were glittering, emerald, natural lavender stretching across the canvas above them, stars dancing on her lips.

 _She’s so pretty,_ Korra thought absentmindedly.

And she was no longer jealous. (It’d been a growing feeling over the past month, but now she was certain.)

Then—

Asami’s expression shifted abruptly—to one of disappointment, saturated with indignation, as though their conversation had reminded her of something dreadful.

A beat, and then—

“So, how’s work?”

The air between them abruptly grew cold.

Korra knew Asami wasn’t asking about school.

_I suppose we were going to have to have this conversation sooner or later._

Korra looked down. Fidgeted.

“Err…”

_What am I supposed to say to that?_

For once, Asami didn’t concede. She was usually benevolent in these situations, allowing Korra—or whomever she was conversing with—to sidestep around the disconcerting subject. However, this time, she offered no such reprieve, folding her arms over her chest impatiently.

 _It’s my fault,_ Korra supposed. _I should’ve quit right after that protest_.

But Korra had clung to her stance steadfastly—if anything, out of a superficial desire to avoid admitting her fault in joining in the first place.

“I’m…I’m sorry about that,” she began weakly. “I…I didn’t know this would happen.” Korra didn’t need to explain what ‘that’ or ‘this’ was. “I just…” she exhaled deeply and gazed up at the sky.

Unlike the one featured on the Enchanted Ceiling, the moon above them was not full. It was in one of its quarters—was it the first? Or…was it a waxing crescent?

“I just wanted to do something as the Chosen One,” Korra finished, lowering her eyes again.

Asami arced an eyebrow.

“You thought being the Chosen One meant joining a xenophobic organization?”

There was a measured bitterness to her voice—suppressed ire, as though she wanted to be angry at Korra but couldn’t bring herself to.

Korra winced. She probably deserved that.

“No, not…That’s not what I meant.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen?” Asami continued severely. Then— “Right. Of course, you didn’t. You’re too naïve.”

It stung, but Korra didn’t try to fight it. There was an extra weight to what Asami had said—she always spoke like that—everyone did, like there was something they knew that Korra didn’t, like everyone was enlightened, bestowed with otherworldly knowledge, and Korra was the fool who didn’t know herself.

_That’s accurate, actually._

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Korra agreed quietly. “I’ve always been sheltered, and I didn’t realize the consequences of that until now. But…it’s the only thing that’s kept me okay—or at least, let me convince myself that I am—not knowing, not wanting to know. I don’t…I don’t know if I could handle all of this if I wasn’t the way I am.”

Asami remained silent.

She waited for Korra to continue, her face unreadable. No, there was at least one emotion there that Korra recognized.

 _Hurt_ —Korra had done that. Without meaning to.

All she’d wanted to do in the first place was keep her loved ones safe; she’d wanted to invoke a positive change—and all she’d done was reopen old scars. No, they’d probably never closed—Korra had just added salt to fresh wounds, wounds that knew no end, perpetual in the agony they unleashed on their victim.

Korra sighed. Tried again.

“I don’t know what this…is. Being the Chosen One, I mean,” Korra clarified. “No one will tell me, and I can’t find anything about it anywhere. I’m trying so hard and…and there’s nothing I can do. Mako and Bolin—and Kai—lost their home. Sixty-some children died. And I…I couldn’t do anything. I thought this—the task force—would be a way for me to make a difference. A good one—not, not make things worse than they already are. I’m so confused and I just…everything feels wrong.”

Asami’s lips parted.

She looked shaken.

Clearly, she hadn’t expected to hear her own words used against her—though, that wasn’t what Korra had intended to do, she’d merely blabbered whatever had come to mind. However, more than anything, Asami looked shocked by this admission.

Korra rubbed the palm of her hand.

“Y’know, when the Equalist attacked me, he said that ‘they chose wrong’ and that I ‘can’t protect anyone.’” Korra laughed mirthlessly. “I guess they were right. I really _can’t_ protect anyone.”

Asami dropped her arms in surprise.

“ _That_ ’s why you joined?”

Korra nodded sullenly.

“I told Tarrlok no the first time he asked. But…I felt so useless during that fight. He’s…the Equalist, I mean, he’s really strong—he used a curse that nobody has been able to recreate in almost a century—but I lost so badly I probably would’ve died if Iroh hadn’t shown up.”

Asami said nothing.

She looked away, after a moment.

“Some half-balked Chosen One, aren’t I?” Korra sneered, fingers curling into fists against her robes.

It came out harsher than she had intended, but it was fitting—the statement was followed by a rush of self-loathing Korra had been trying to curb for weeks now. She’d opened the gates, and the flood was inexorable.

Her eyes began stinging. She turned her face away, so Asami wouldn’t have to watch her cry.

“No—don’t say that.” Asami’s voice was several notes milder this time. “You…you can’t just define yourself based on others’ expectations. That’s what you just told me, right?” Korra sniffed. “Follow your own advice. The Equalists aren’t worth your trouble. That…that _asshole_ —” there was a startling amount of ire in Asami’s voice “—doesn’t deserve you—your time or energy. Don’t take what he said to heart.”

She wasn’t wrong—Korra just hadn’t expected her to be so understanding.

Asami still wouldn’t look at Korra, but her body language was less hostile. If anything, there was a trace of remorse on her face, as though she regretted bringing this up in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, Asami. I really am,” Korra croaked, once she’d managed to stop sniffling. Asami finally glanced at her. “I’m going to quit.”

Asami looked relieved. “You are?”

Korra nodded.

“I’ve been planning to. After the Hogsmeade trip, I’ll—”

“You’re _going_?” Asami cut Korra off.

She sounded alarmed for some reason.

“Err, yeah. Isn’t everyone?” Korra was puzzled.

“I’m not.” Asami’s voice was sharp, strained. “Can’t you quit sooner? You don’t—you don’t have to go.”

Korra studied Asami. She couldn’t get a read on her—still didn’t know how to use her newfound skill when she actually wanted to—but couldn’t fathom the urgency on her face. There was a flicker of the instance before this, in the locker room.

“I mean…I already said I would be there,” Korra replied, frowning. “Everyone who’s going—they’ll need me. I don’t want another attack, and in the terrible event that there is one, I want to be there. I can’t watch any more people get hurt while I do nothing.”

The blood drained from Asami’s face.

She turned to face Korra, took one of her hands between both of hers.

“Please, can’t you stay?” Asami whispered.

Korra hesitated.

She gazed down at their hands, then up at Asami. There was the same desperation in her eyes, like she was terrified she would lose Korra—the melancholy was there too, the inexplicable promise of tragedy that Korra knew nothing of.

Finally—

Korra squeezed one of Asami’s hands gently. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m not going back on my word.”

Asami’s looked crestfallen.

Her grip on Korra’s hand grew weak. She blinked rapidly.

Then—

“Oof!”

Without warning, Asami had all but flung herself at Korra. She wrapped her arms tightly around Korra’s neck, pulling her close.

“Promise me you’ll be safe. Promise me you’ll come back,” Asami whispered into Korra’s shoulder.

Korra was frozen. Her senses were overwhelmed—Asami’s embrace was warm against the cool October air, and Korra was dizzy on the scent of jasmine and waterfalls.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around Asami’s waist.

“I…” Korra had to clear her throat—her voice sounded odd for some reason, “Yeah, I-I will. Why wouldn’t I?”

Asami didn’t answer. After a few moments, she pulled back and looked at Korra as though this might be the last time she saw her.

“You’re braver than you give yourself credit for,” Asami said at last, softly.

She released Korra, and turned to face the Hogwarts grounds.

Several minutes passed before either of them spoke again.

Asami stole a glance at Korra. Then, she sighed.

“While we’re on the topic of apologies…”

Korra glanced sideways at Asami, who was unconsciously engaged in her nervous tick again. Her heart sank.

_So that’s how that started…_

“Yeah?” Korra pressed gently, trying her best to convey that there was no need to be anxious.

She wondered briefly if she should hold Asami’s hands—

“I know we’ve talked about this before, and I know we’re past this, but I-I still feel like I owe you an apology,” Asami said quickly—so quickly Korra could barely distinguish the words from one another, “I’m…I’m really, really sorry about Mako, Korra…I…I just…” Asami screwed her eyes shut, balled her hands into fists, “I feel like there are a lot of things I have to be sorry for to you…and I…I’m…”

It seemed like Asami couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

After a moment, Korra reached out to squeeze Asami’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she said once she had Asami’s attention. “Look, you don’t have to be sorry to me about _anything._ ” She meant it. “Whatever happened with Mako, I'm glad it hasn't come between us.”

_Anymore, at least._

Asami looked up at Korra with trembling eyes. “Really?”

Korra nodded.

“Really. Most of my friends are guys…I’ve never had a girlfriend to hang out with and talk to before,” she admitted. “This is nice.”

She looked away, suddenly coy, before stealing a bashful glance at Asami.

The other girl looked dazed.

“What…what about Opal?” Asami asked after a beat.

“Well, yeah, I suppose I did have Opal.” Korra rubbed her arm. “But to be honest, I didn’t really start talking to her until she and Bolin started dating last year. And, I don’t know, with you it’s…” _different. Better._ Korra gestured lamely before grinning at Asami. “Y’know.”

Asami gazed at Korra with a strange expression for a few moments before her face softened and she lowered her gaze.

She chuckled.

“Wow, the student task force captain is friends with a muggle-born?”

There was no malice in her voice though, and when she looked at Korra again, her eyes were warm.

“Actually,” Korra corrected her, “I would say that, in a shockingly short period of time, a muggle-born has become one of the student task force captain’s closest friends.”

Stunned silence.

Asami looked speechless.

She looked away, looked down, looked up—at last, looked back at Korra.

Asami searched Korra’s eyes, as though she expected some kind of catch or clause she’d missed. When Korra did nothing but smile back at her, Asami averted her gaze hastily.

Her entire face had gone scarlet.


	10. The Equalist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry about the wait—this was a really hard chapter to write and I don’t even know if I hit all the points I wanted to, but I hope it turned out all right. It’s quite long, but I implore you to read all of it. 
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say expect a delay in updates from now on. I tried to hammer out as many chapters as I could during the summer but once school starts, me being the giant nerd that I am, I will most likely disappear into a void.

* * *

 

“Your new position of power is very admirable, cousin. I am immensely enjoying the shoulder pads of sovereignty you bear.”

“Err, thanks, but I’m quitting after today.”

“Why would you abandon such unquestionable authority?”

 _My authority is_ very _questionable._

“Erm, I don’t quite agree with the task force’s views…”

“…I do not comprehend this moral dilemma. Farewell.”

“Bye Eska,” Korra said weakly, watching her cousin stalk off with Huan and her twin brother in relief.

As promised, Korra had managed to recruit nine other student task force members to patrol Hogsmeade for the day. However, she had no luck in deciding where she was stationed (she regretted publicly disparaging Tarrlok more with each new assignment), and found herself at the very outskirts of the village. Behind her was some sort of shack, battered and worn, with boarded windows; Korra had a niggling suspicion that the building was haunted.

She sighed.

November had only just begun, but as far as Korra was concerned, a decade had passed—she was jaded beyond belief. Exam season was rapidly approaching, as was the next match against Ravenclaw, and tensions between the purebloods and muggle-borns had reached a near tipping point. More than anything, Korra didn’t know how to handle the affirmation of her newfound identity—couldn’t comprehend all its intricacies and implications. At this point, all she wanted to do was drop all of her obligations, crawl into her bed at Tenzin’s house in Wales, and sleep until the next century.

Korra winced.

_Right. Tenzin._

Hopefully, after today, there would be no need for the friction between them.

“All right, Korra?” 

Tu, Wing, and Wei were approaching her, butterbeers in hand. (The twins’ pockets were overflowing with purchases from Zonko’s Joke Shop.)

Korra smiled for the first time that day (it had begun at dawn, and it was now noon—with five hours remaining).

“Not really, but I’ll manage. You lot having a blast?”

“You bet! Look at what I bought from—”

“After everything, it’s just nice to be outside,” Wing cut Wei off with an elbow to his side. He must’ve noticed the envy blooming on Korra’s face. “Want a drink?”

Only then did Korra notice Tu had an extra bottle, and was holding it out enticingly. 

“Tempting, but I’ll pass. I can’t engage in any student activities while I’m on duty,” Korra answered dejectedly.

“That blows! Don’t you get a break?” Wei sounded horrified.

“I get a lunch break in about—” Korra checked her pocket watch (which, of course, bore the task force insignia on it) “—thirty minutes or so.”

“All right, I’ll hold onto this until then,” Tu sighed, retracting the butterbeer. “We’ll catch up with you then, yeah?”

Korra watched dismally as her friends returned to the village, laughter audible even from a distance.

 _Asami was right. I should’ve quit sooner._ Korra huffed. _Tenzin is going to have a field day when I tell him._

She was grateful for the occasional visits from her friends and acquaintances, but they ultimately did little to alleviate the overwhelming sense of loneliness. Korra couldn’t help but feel as though she was missing out (she was), plagued by the prospect of an unfruitful Hogsmeade trip.

The task force had arrived around seven in the morning to scope the premises and ensure secure transport between the school and the village. However, outside of breakfast at the Three Broomsticks (courtesy of Tarrlok—quite possibly the only good deed he’d performed in his lifetime), Korra had been standing guard for the better part of the day.

It wasn’t quite snowing yet, but there was a chill in the air that clung to Korra’s skin like glue. While she harbored a strong tolerance for cold weather, the less time she spent in the South Pole, the more she found her endurance waning; moreover, the task force uniform was equipped for battle, not harsh weather. By the time lunch rolled around, Korra’s teeth were chattering.

“There you are.”

Korra’s heart swelled—Mako and Opal were standing behind her.

“We got you some firewhisky, thought it might warm you up,” Opal grinned as she offered Korra a faded burgundy bottle.

Technically, Korra wasn’t supposed to drink on duty—or at all, considering there was still a significant amount of time before she turned seventeen—but she found that her sense of responsibility was nonexistent at this point.

“Thanks, I owe you,” Korra replied, accepting the beverage readily.

“Easy there—you still have a few more hours on your shift,” Mako teased as Korra nearly downed the bottle in one go.

There was a searing sensation at the back of her throat—then warmth. Relieved, Korra handed the bottle back to Opal (who, Korra remembered after a beat, wasn’t even sixteen yet let alone seventeen). She finished it, anyway.

“Whatever, I’m literally quitting tomorrow—maybe I’ll get fired early,” Korra grouched.

“Or detention,” Opal pointed out with a hiccup.

“If it’s with Bumi, that’s just a bonus.”

They all laughed.

Then—

“Slacking off on duty, Captain?” 

_Ugh._

Tahno’s smirk widened as Korra’s grin vanished.

 _Of course,_ he _’s here to relieve me._

To be fair, Korra _had_ requested that he be part of the ten student task force patrollers; she just hadn’t anticipated that he’d actually agree to it.

“You’re late,” Korra retorted sharply. “We were standing around waiting for _you_.”

Tahno tossed his head, waving the locks out of his face. “My apologies, Captain. My heart was racing at the thought of seeing you—I needed to collect myself first.”

Korra rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, could you not?” Opal interjected, crinkling her nose in distaste.

“I wasn’t talking to you, half-blood scum,” Tahno sneered without sparing a glance in her direction.

Korra gritted her teeth. “Talk to her like that again and I’m taking points from Slytherin.”

Tahno looked more amused than intimidated. “Prefects can’t dock points from each other, genius.”

Korra’s hand tightened around her wand. She opened her mouth, but before she could reply—

“Keep this up and I _will_.”

Korra glanced at Mako in surprise. There was something intense about him, something staunchly protective. His face was impassive, but there was no doubting the quiet ire in his voice—it was radiating off him in waves. He was gazing directly at Tahno—they were about the same height—but there was a discernible difference in the aura each exuded.

Tahno’s lip curled.

“Sorry, Head Boy, sir. Won’t happen again.”

There was a distinct note of ridicule in his tone—Mako’s jaw clenched—

Then, noticing both Korra and Opal’s discomfort, he relented.

“Sod off,” Mako replied coolly. He turned back to the girls and tilted his head towards the village. “C’mon, the others are waiting for us.”

“I’ll be waiting, my love,” Tahno called after them sardonically.

(They ignored him.)

The walk that followed was quiet, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The firewhisky hit Korra all at once, and she felt as if she were skating across the grounds; it was in the midst of blissful daydreaming that something occurred to her.

“Did Asami really not come?” Korra inquired as they meandered towards the Three Broomsticks.

Mako nodded. “Yeah, her dad thinks it’s too dangerous or something.”

Korra’s eyebrows knitted together.

“I see…”

She doubted it was really—or ever—about that. Hiroshi liked to exercise some semblance of control over his daughter, and what better way than to prevent her from spending time with his least favorite student?

Speaking of which—

“Err, have you ever spent any time with Professor Sato?”

Silence.

Mako and Opal exchanged a glance.

“That’s a very specific question,” Opal piped up after a moment.

“I mean, I don’t know—the whole introducing your significant other to the parents thing,” Korra defended herself, cheeks flaming.

“Err, I met him once—outside of class, I mean—before the match. He said he was rooting for Gryffindor to win,” Mako supplied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But that’s about it.”

Korra’s eyes narrowed.

She recalled Hiroshi’s reaction to Gryffindor’s victory all too well—his eyes had bored into her with a loathing that was far more intense than what a poor relationship with a student merited.

“Right…” Korra muttered. “I’m sure.”

Mako nudged her with his shoulder. “Why? Did he do something?”

Asami’s head snapped to the side. She was nine.

“Err…he just…doesn’t like me much,” Korra deflected. She ignored the knot in her stomach.

Mako seemed unconvinced, but he dropped the subject anyway as they arrived at the center of Hogsmeade.

It was a rather cozy village, something like the cover of a seasonal greeting card. There were two rows of buildings (each of varying height and shape) that ran down a wide cobbled path—High Street, the main road. Every establishment in the village boasted the allure of vernacular architecture, with pine trees and other greenery sprinkled about; the leaves had long since changed colors and many lay littered at the bases of vegetation in wait of winter.

Korra had been to Hogsmeade several times, but she still looked all about her as they made their way through the village—it never failed to make her feel at ease. They passed by Zonko’s Joke Shop (most frequented by the Beifong twins), Honeydukes (Korra’s favorite sweet shop in all of England), and the post office (much, much larger than the little owlery at Hogwarts) before arriving at their destination.

They entered the Three Broomsticks hastily, eager to escape the cold.

The inn—or rather, the pub on the first floor—was just as homely and inviting as Korra remembered it. Warm, dimly-lit, and rowdy, with more patrons than tables available, the entire pub smelled of comfort food, butterbeer (a sort of sweet, cinnamon-y aroma), and (likely cigarette) smoke.

To Korra’s delight, the table at the edge of the pub was occupied by familiar faces.

“Hey, look who’s here!”

“That’s our girl!”

“Your drink got cold.”

“KORRA! I ORDERED BANGERS AND MASH FOR YOU!”

“Sit next to me, Korra!”

Wing, Wei, Tu, Bolin, and Terrace (Korra was a little surprised to see her, but didn’t mind—it was always nice spending time with the only other girl on the team), respectively, greeted Korra in unison.

She felt like her heart might burst out of her chest.

“Hi,” Korra greeted lamely, uncertain of how to handle all the attention. She was beaming, though, as she managed, “Thanks, Bolin.”

Korra accepted the seat (a barrel, in essence) beside Terrace and tore through her lunch swiftly—impatient to catch up with her friends. It wasn’t until she handed her plate to Madam Price (who preferred to be addressed by her given name), a blue-haired witch with tattoos running up her right arm, that Korra noticed the young boy sitting amongst them.

“All right, Korra?” Kai grinned when she jumped in surprise.

“Hey, kid—finally old enough for Hogsmeade, eh?” Korra smiled, reaching over Terrace to ruffle his hair.

“That never stopped him before,” Mako grumbled, though there was a hint of a smile on his face.

They talked about everything Korra had missed in the last two hours: Wing and Wei had spent their entire monthly allowance at Zonko’s, Bolin and Opal had tried the new drink at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop (Hokkaido milk tea—though Korra didn’t know what ‘Hokkaido’ was), and Mako, Tu, and Terrace had stopped by Spintwitches Sporting Needs to buy new gloves (Korra made a note to do so after her shift). Korra noticed Tu drifted from the conversation often, gaze lingering just a moment too long on Terrace before flitting away quickly. She refrained from making eye contact thereafter.

“I’m going to go grab some more chocolate frogs for my boo,” Bolin announced, getting to his feet. “Anyone else want anything?”

After being barraged with a multitude of incomprehensible requests, he pressed a kiss to Opal’s temple before ducking out of the pub. Only Korra had refrained from asking for anything—she wouldn’t be able to hold onto it when she returned to her post—and the knowledge left her bitter once again.

Kai took notice.

“Hey, I know you can’t really do anything fun today,” he piped up, reaching into his pockets—everyone besides Korra was wearing plain clothing— “so I brought you some sweets.”

Kai produced a small pile of creamy nougats and sugar quills. Korra’s stomach was brimming with butterbeer and food, but the sight still made her salivate. More than anything, she was touched by the ordinarily boisterous, self-absorbed third year’s consideration of her.

“Aw, thanks, Kai. These are my favorites—” Korra frowned, abruptly realizing Kai had said ‘brought’ not ‘bought’ “—wait, did you pay for these?”

“Err—"

Just then, a slight girl arrived at their table with two steaming tankards.

Korra stared. “Jinora? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with your friends?”

Despite her studious habits, Jinora was rather popular amongst the Ravenclaws (actually, that was probably why she was); Korra often spotted her roaming the Hogwarts grounds with a gaggle of third and fourth years.

Jinora handed Kai one of the butterbeers and sat down beside him. She raised an eyebrow at Korra. “Aren’t you lot my friends?”

“Well, yeah–of course,” Korra backtracked quickly, “you’re always welcome here—I just didn’t—”

Only then did Korra notice Kai had gone very pink in the face and had all but buried himself in his drink to avoid being interrogated.

_Ah._

Jinora seemed not to notice.

“Never mind that. How’ve you been?” Korra beamed.

“All right,” Jinora smiled back. “Busy. I’ve been trying to gather signatures for my nonprofit organization. We’re trying to secure fair wages and working conditions for house-elves—it’s rather dreadful how wizards treat them nowadays. We’re going to pitch a motion to…”

Most of what Jinora said went over Korra’s head. She’d only ever interacted with house-elves at Hogwarts (and they seemed rather content with their jobs); Tenzin and Suyin didn’t believe in badgering the creatures with housework, and there were no house-elves in the South Pole. Kai, on the other hand, seemed to be in a trance, gazing at Jinora dreamily as she explained her aspirations.

Korra was only half paying attention when—

“…are you still not talking to Dad?”

Korra wanted to throw up everything she just ate.

“Ugh, do we have to talk about that?” she mumbled, fiddling with her ‘Captain’ badge.

Jinora looked disheartened but didn’t pursue the topic further.

“No, but please do make up with him before Christmas. I don’t want the holidays to be awkward.”

“We’re staying here for the holidays,” Korra corrected her absentmindedly before she could stop herself.

“Oh, did Dad tell you that?”

_No, I actually read his mind on accident._

But Jinora was staring at her expectantly, so–

“Yeah—something like that.”

“Are you even listening?” Wei grumbled, noticing his sister seemed distracted.

Korra looked over at the siblings sitting across from her. Indeed, Opal looked rather distressed, glancing at the entrance frequently.

“It’s been nearly an hour, Bolin should’ve been back by now,” she commented nervously.

Korra frowned—both at the notion that her break was almost over and that Bolin seemed to be—there was no other word for it—missing.

“Maybe he’s just stuck in a long line?” Mako suggested. “It _is_ the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, the third-years are probably raiding the place. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

However, his expression was more telling—he was uneasy, as well.

Korra rose to her feet, about to volunteer to go check—

That was when the screaming started.

“H-HE’S HERE! I SAW H-HIM IN THE TOWN SQUARE!”

Nobody had to ask who.

The very floor beneath them gave a massive rumble—something like an explosion outside—everyone fell to their knees—

“THEY’RE ATTACKING THE VILLAGE!”

“MAKE A RUN FOR IT!”

Absolute pandemonium had broken out—the inn was in an uproar, patrons running about wildly, some hiding under tables, others fleeing the premises entirely—Madam Price had drawn her wand and was shouting instructions—

“W-what’s going on?” Wing cried, wrapping his arms around his siblings.

“A-Amon’s here!” someone yelped over the chaos. “He’s kidnapped a bunch of students and he’s d-doing a d-demonstration—” Korra knew what the man was going to say before he finished his sentence, had seen it herself the night Asami had implored her to stay “—he’s going to _take their magic away!”_

_NO!_

Korra saw red again—clenched her fists—

 “You guys, get back to the school _now_ ,” she ordered, rising to her feet. She swayed—couldn’t see straight; her voice sounded odd—it wasn’t entirely hers— “I’m going to go find Bolin.”

Then Korra was possessed by something beyond herself.

There was an otherworldly power flowing through her, something unlike her own aura—as though several others had melded with hers (was it the adrenaline?). Her wand was sparking vividly—

“I’m coming with you.”

“Opal, _no_ ,” Wing pleaded, reaching for his sister’s hand.

“He’s right, it’s not safe,” Wei agreed. “Let Korra and the task force handle this one.”

“That’s my boyfriend—I’m not letting anything happen to him,” Opal declared fiercely, dodging her brothers.

“I’m coming too,” Mako interjected, placing a hand on Opal’s shoulder. “We’ll keep her safe, don’t worry,” he added, glancing at the twins.

They exchanged a look. Wing looked like he was about to faint.

“Okay,” Wing conceded. He pursed his lips—glanced at his brother, who nodded at him. “Then we’re coming as well.”

“Me too,” Tu chimed in, rising to his feet. “That’s my cousin.”

Terrace said nothing, but she seemed to share the sentiment, for she’d drawn her wand and was standing with everyone else.

(Korra’s vision finally started to clear, and she felt like herself again.)

“No—the point was to keep you guys safe,” Korra objected, her voice having returned to its normal pitch. When she was greeted with nothing but defiant silence, she sighed. _I guess that’s what you get when all of your friends are Gryffindors._ “Fine. But Kai and Jinora—you two have to go back.”

“What? I want to—" Kai began to protest but Korra cut him off.

“Keep Jinora safe,” she insisted. The girl in question looked petrified. “You’re the only one who can do it.”

This seemed to pacify Kai, who nodded determinedly. He grabbed a hold of Jinora’s hand—this seemed to rouse her—and led her out of the inn, the others on their heels.

What waited for them outside was worse than anything Korra could’ve imagined—

The entire village was up in flames.

People of all ages were running amuck—aurors were barking orders, casting spells haphazardly, task force members following suit—

But worst of all was what appeared to be hundreds of Equalists, all identical in their jumpsuits and mosquito-like masks, brandishing their wands in a display of merciless destruction.

 _At least there aren’t any Dementors,_ Korra thought weakly.

Korra couldn’t tell how many of the Equalists were really Equalists—some of them seem to be in a daze, like they were under the Imperius Curse—they probably were—

“KORRA!”

The entire group spun on their heels, wands out. What—no, whom—they saw wasn’t a threat, but rather—

“What are you doing? You have to get back to the castle!” Tahno screeched over the chaos.

If he wasn’t so close, Korra wouldn’t have been able to recognize his voice over all the screaming; he’d grabbed a hold of Korra’s shoulders and was shaking her vigorously.

Korra clenched her fists. “But we’re the task force! Who’s going to protect these civilians if we don’t?”

Some of Korra’s vexation ebbed away when she saw the look of genuine conflict in Tahno’s eyes, devoid of their usual apathy.

“I-I know, but the aurors said the students can’t be here. It’s too dangerous for anyone with magical blood,” he retorted at last.

_“After I take away your magic you will be nothing.”_

Korra gritted her teeth, steeled herself. She ignored the tremble in her fingers and met Tahno’s gaze resolutely.

“I don’t care. I’m staying,” she fired back.

For a moment, concern flickered across Tahno’s face—then it was gone.

“Fine, play your stupid vigilante games. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered, releasing Korra. With a final look over his shoulder at the rest of the group, he resumed his trek up to the castle.

“Was that git actually _worried_ about us?” Wing asked, watching Tahno run up the hill.

Wei shivered unpleasantly. “Gross. I hope it never happens again.”

“Would you two focus?” Opal snarled, waving her wand in her brothers’ faces.

“Fuck,” Mako gasped suddenly. He tapped Korra on the shoulder. “Look.”

Above a flaming building—Korra didn’t know which, the title was scorched beyond recognition—was a message in an ornate script, scarlet, like shattered rubies:

_Take back what they took from us—the only non-muggle settlement was never theirs to begin with._

It was even more eerie in person, both oddly mesmerizing and unnerving, and Korra was grateful for Mako’s hand on her shoulder, for she would’ve collapsed without it. Everyone else was frozen in shock, as well.

“Fuck that,” Korra growled, composing herself. “He isn’t taking anything—or anyone—else from us.” She threw a frustrated glance behind her. “What are you lot waiting for? Let’s go!”

The others awoke from their stupor and stumbled after her.

“Oi, you two! We’ll create a diversion for you,” Mako called back to Jinora and Kai, who were jogging behind everyone else.

“Get to Honeydukes—there’s a trapdoor that leads directly back to Hogwarts!” Wei advised.

Korra wondered briefly how he knew that, but had no time to dwell on the thought for Mako raised his wand and a large cloud of smoke billowed out around them.

“GO!” he roared, and Jinora and Kai scrambled away towards what Korra could only hope was Honeydukes.

“D’you think they’ll be all right?” Terrace asked gravely, gazing after them.

Tu placed a hand on her shoulder. “C’mon. We’ll go with them.”

She flashed him a look of relief before glancing at the others. When they nodded their approval, the two disappeared after the third years.

“Let’s keep going!” Korra yelled.

They were off again—breathless, wands out—Korra glanced at Mako, who was slowing down—

 **We should do something about this,** he thought gravely, taking in the devastation around them.

Virtually all of the village’s vegetation was ablaze, ash had settled over the settlement like waxen snow, half of the homes and shops had been reduced to nothing—

“There’ll be time to put out the fires later,” Korra insisted. “I’m not saying we should ignore it but—we need to get to those students before Amon does. We can come back after.”

“The aurors will probably do it before we even get to it,” Opal chipped in helpfully (though Korra suspected it had more to do with her desire to rescue Bolin first).

Mako, however, glanced at Korra in alarm. “How did you know—?”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

_“Expelliarmus!”_

_“Protego!”_ Wing bellowed, leaping in front of the others.

Scarlet exploded before them—but thankfully, nobody was disarmed. When the dust settled, an Equalist stood before them.

It was something out of a muggle action film—around them, sheer madness, while the Equalist stood calmly in the midst of it all, wand raised menacingly.

Korra couldn’t quite see his—her—their eyes, but there was no doubt—the Equalist’s gaze was focused on Korra.

“You’re coming with me, Chosen One,” they snickered in a distorted voice.

The blood drained from Korra’s face.

_Fuck. Nobody is supposed to know about that—_

The Beifongs glanced at each other quizzically.

“What’s he going on about?”

“Chosen what?”

Mako gritted his teeth.

“He’s just trying to distract us,” he hissed before swishing his wand. “ _Expulso!_ ”

A burst of blue—then the very earth before the Equalist imploded.

They leapt away nimbly, but it was just enough time for—

“C’mon, let’s go!” Mako yelled, charging past the disoriented Equalist.

Opal, with her Seeker reflexes, reacted first and darted after him—the twins followed shortly after—

But by the time Korra had regained her senses, another Equalist was blocking her path.

This one was shorter than the first one, but still half a head taller than Korra. There seemed to be some kind of discord between the Equalists, for the first one was staring at the newcomer in what appeared to be bewilderment.

“Viper, what are you doing here? This isn’t your—”

“Go, I got this,” the newcomer cut his accomplice off coolly. He wouldn’t take his eyes off Korra.

The other Equalist didn’t budge.

“But—”

“GO!”

The other Equalist—Korra hardly knew what the difference between that one and ‘Viper’ was other than their manner of speaking (the first one was completely foreign, but the second one, ‘Viper,’ sounded strangely familiar)—hesitated. After a beat, they relented and leapt backwards, disappearing into a cloud of dust.

The Equalist that remained turned to face Korra.

But Korra’s eyes were still trained on the lingering dust—her friends, they were on the other side—she made to pursue them—

The remaining Equalist brought his wand down in one clean motion.

Black flames leapt up into the air behind him, coming down like a curtain across the clearing; they blazed on until Korra’s path was entirely blocked.

Her friends had noticed—they stopped, turned back; Mako waved his wand in a futile attempt to clear the fire—but of course, nothing happened.

“Go! I’ll catch up with you later,” Korra shouted to them.

The Beifongs exchanged a glance before nodding at Korra. Mako hesitated—his face was strained—

“GO!” Korra bellowed.

After a few more seconds of useless loitering (accompanied by the twins tugging on each of his arms), Mako turned away reluctantly, and the group faded into the crowd.

There was a distinct ring around Korra, marked by tongues of ebony and amethyst; the only area she had access to was that behind her—Hogwarts—but she wasn’t going to run.

The Equalist seemed to arrive at this conclusion at the same time as her.

“You’re not going to get lost, are you?”

Korra gritted her teeth. “No. So stop wasting my time.”

The Equalist sighed. Lowered his head, as though reluctant to engage in what he was about to do.

“Fine. I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

Without warning—

 _It’s the same one,_ Korra realized as she threw herself sideways, dodging the nonverbal spell he’d cast at her. She had recognized the Equalist’s manner of speaking at last. _He’s the one who attacked me last time._

Rolling over her shoulder and back onto her feet in an impressive display of dexterity, Korra turned on him.

“Back for round two?” she spat as they circled each other.

The Equalist stiffened for a moment, seemingly blanching at being caught, and Korra was all the more certain it was him.

Then—

 _“Protego!”_ Korra cried, just in time to block the blinding flash of white hurtling at her.

She had to shield her eyes briefly, it was so bright, and when she looked again, the Equalist was nowhere in sight.

“What—”

Something hit Korra square in the back and she lurched forward before falling to her knees in agony. Her uniform broke her fall, but it wasn’t strong enough to repel the damage of the hex entirely.

“Ugh,” Korra groaned, rubbing her lower back.

She hadn’t seen the spell—but it wasn’t fatal, or nearly as vicious as anything she’d been hit with the first time. Setting her jaw, Korra ignored the pain shooting through her spine as she skirted around the next spell.

 _Do they all fight dirty?_ Korra wondered to herself as she forced herself onto her feet.

 _“Stupefy!”_ she cried, waving her wand at the Equalist.

He deflected it effortlessly, as Korra expected.

But the Equalist—the one Korra was facing—was the only one fighting without uttering any incantations. Korra had initially believed all Equalists fought like that—that they were all that skilled, that cunning—that they tried to mask their identities behind the anonymity of nonverbal magic—but the fights going on around them weren’t nearly as one-sided.

In some cases, the Equalists had gained an advantage, but in most, the aurors and task force members were holding their own. In fact, the Equalist Korra was facing was the _only one_ casting nonverbal spells.

“ _Incarcerous!”_

Coils of rope shot out of the tip of Korra’s wand—

Of course, the Equalist blocked it. The rope fell to the ground in a heap and then dissolved altogether.

“Blast it,” Korra gasped. She was out of breath, her heart was hammering against her chest; she was lightheaded, starting to lose feeling in her fingers…

But the Equalist—the Equalist seemed hardly phased at all.

_What kind of stamina…?_

He was relentless, casting spell after spell at Korra—some of which, she managed to circumvent, but most of which, hit her dead-on.

Yet, there was something different about him this time—something in his stance, in his demeanor, in the very blows he launched at Korra—he seemed _gentler_ , and that was all the more puzzling.

“What are you playing at?” Korra shouted at the Equalist.

He gave no reply, opting to cast an onslaught of spells at her instead.

Around them, the fights seemed to be dying out—the Equalists were retreating as the aurors and task force members gained the upper hand—

But the Equalist facing Korra was persistent, driving her away from the black flames and back towards Hogwarts. Korra’s jaw clenched.

_I’m never going to catch up to the others at this rate._

Then, Korra frowned.

 _Wait…is he…is he_ stalling _?_

Korra gazed at the Equalist warily.

She had no way of identifying his intentions, but her suspicions continued to grow as he circled her; he seemed more focused on derailing her than harming her, if anything.

Another spell—

 _“Protego!”_ Korra cried.

_Remember what you learned last time._

Studying his movements helped even out the disadvantage, but—

His style of fighting was eerily familiar—Korra already figured it was the same one that had ambushed her before, but there was something beyond that…

Around them, the crowd (or rather, the scattered, scrambling civilians) was beginning to disperse, either fleeing in the direction of Hogwarts or allowing themselves to be escorted to the train station—

“ _Reducto!”_ Korra yelled desperately.

At this point, she wasn’t really battling the Equalist—she was far too outmatched—but rather postponing resignation in the hope that some auror or other ally would come to her aid. They couldn’t, she knew, because of the fire barrier, but perhaps—perhaps, _someone_ would be able to bypass it—

The Equalist took advantage of Korra’s dwindling morale.

A flash of scarlet—

Korra stared in horror as her wand flew out of her hand, sailed through the air, and landed several feet away, on the other side of the Equalist.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered over and over again.

There was no feasible outcome in which Korra could hold her own against the Equalist without her wand—not unless she could miraculously call forth the elements again—

The Equalist didn’t attack, however. Despite Korra’s blatant vulnerability, he did nothing. He merely stood with his wand pointed at her, almost as if daring her to run.

Then, Korra’s gaze fell on his wand.

_No…_

There was no mistaking it—

Alder.

_No…it…it has to be a coincidence…_

But she knew it wasn’t.

Stomach churning, Korra called on her Quidditch skills. She feinted left, then right, then center—the Equalist waved his wand—but that was what Korra had been waiting for.

His form—it was something Korra was well acquainted with, something she’d seen over and over again, day after day, for almost two and a half months. The movement, the gesture, the stance—it was all unnervingly, undeniably, hopelessly familiar—

 _“Only incredibly powerful witches and wizards can wield an alder wand properly; those who do are perhaps the most gifted wizards of their time. I have produced less than ten alder wands in the last century,”_ Garrick Ollivander had written in the wandology book Korra had skimmed over the summer.

Korra slid between the Equalist’s legs—spread too wide, wide enough to let Korra pass—and dove for her wand.

When she turned back, the Equalist was already conjuring a new hex—

But Korra knew more about ‘Viper’s weaknesses than Viper may have believed.

_“I…I’ve never…I’ve never been good at elemental magic.”_

Korra raised her arm above her head—

To her—and the Equalist’s—disbelief, storm clouds began swirling overhead.

Korra didn’t know she had that much magic in her—this hadn’t even been what she’d intended—but it was there again, that terrible, overwhelming sense of power, coursing through her veins—

Thunder boomed above them—and then it was pouring.

The flames consuming Hogsmeade fizzled uselessly before dying out altogether; those who remained gazed up in astonishment, glancing at each other questioningly; the ebony flames, however, showed no signs of waning—

_“You’re more loyal than I thought. Can you say the same about your friend?”_

Korra brought her wand down—the Equalist let out an audible gasp as the rain froze midair, thousands upon thousands of droplets suspended above the ground—and then, with a pulse of aura stronger than anything Korra had ever experienced before, she thrust her wand forward sharply—

Every single particle of water turned to ice, and hurtled at the Equalist.

The Equalist leaped backwards nimbly, dodging as many as possible—but there were far too many for one human to evade altogether—the ice caught up to him—the Equalist stumbled, tripping backwards—

Korra glared at the Equalist unsympathetically as he battled her element.

But it wasn’t a ‘he.’

Korra thought of Asami, who hadn’t come to Hogsmeade today.

Asami, who’d cast a remorseful glance at Korra after she’d been Sorted into Ravenclaw.

_“I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to get close to you when I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor, but then these imbeciles went and locked us in a room together.”_

Asami, who had spoken to Hiroshi the morning before she was assigned Korra’s partner in Potions—and then, Korra had won the Felix Felicis—the same Felix Felicis that Asami adamantly refused to allow her to consume a month and a half later.

Asami, who had become unknowable in the first few moments they shared alone—dark, brimming with incomprehensible resentment, as though given the opportunity, she would obliterate Korra into nothingness.

Asami, who’d conveniently beguiled the person closest to Korra within a matter of days.

_No…_

Asami, who used every opportunity she could to get close to Korra—Korra, specifically Korra, whom she knew little of outside of what Mako had told her. Korra, who had virtually no presence at Hogwarts outside of her status as prefect and House Chaser.

Asami, who had called her ‘Chosen One,’ not because Mako had told her, but as though she derived some sort of cruel pleasure from doing so, as though she’d known for ages.

Asami, who had expected someone to protect her and her mother and been disappointed. Asami, who had been unable to comprehend Korra’s reticence towards vengeance.

_No, no…_

Asami, who had every right to stay angry with Korra for staying in the task force but refrained from going too far, as though she had no place in doing so, as though she had done something far worse herself.

Asami, whom Lin had suspected from day one. Asami, whom even Mako couldn’t fully trust.

Asami, who was always sorry to Korra. Asami, who always looked at Korra sadly. Asami, who knew curses the most esteemed witches and wizards in the nations had never heard of.

Asami, who grew pale at any mention of the Equalist attack.

Asami, who had indomitable stamina. Asami, who excelled at nonverbal magic. Asami, who wielded an alder wand—the only person Korra had ever met to wield an alder wand.

_No, it can’t be…_

Asami, who had begged Korra not to come today.

_Please…_

Asami, who’d conveniently been at Ilvermorny for the last five years—Ilvermorny, the panacea to every inconsistency in Asami’s story, to every lie she’d been feeding Korra this whole time—

Korra’s eyes flickered down.

The Equalist was left-handed.

_No…no, no, NO—_

Korra saw red—she didn’t remember quite what happened next—there was earth, fire, air, water—then—

 _“Legilimens!”_ Korra cried, brandishing her wand at the Equalist.

At first, she feared nothing had happened.

Then—

Whirring, warmth—then everything went cold—Hogsmeade melted away—then nothing.

 

* * *

 

Korra was at King’s Cross Station. She was standing on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

A cloud of smoke hung above the platform, courtesy of the Hogwarts Express; around her, students, parents, animals, and carts bustled.

 _It must be the first day,_ Korra realized as she glanced around.

Then, she saw herself, and nearly vomited.

There she was—a more well-rested version of herself—beside Pema, Meelo, Ikki, and Jinora several yards away. Korra—memory-Korra—was wearing plain clothing, hugging Meelo farewell. Korra gazed at herself—a version of herself from a million years ago, who knew nothing of prophecies, visions, and mind manipulation. Mako and Bolin approached the family, they started a conversation; they hadn’t seen each other all summer, everyone had been too busy this year…

If she was the focus of this memory, then—

To her left, to Korra’s horror, stood Asami.

Korra turned and vomited into nothingness.

When she was done, any evidence of the discharge was gone, and nobody had given the slightest indication that she existed in this realm (she didn’t, not really).

There was no opportunity for—no, not even a remote possibility of refutation: It was Asami. Pretty Asami, wearing muggle clothes and an expression devoid of any emotion. But Korra knew better.

Her eyes were more hostile than Korra had ever seen them—no, she’d seen it a few other times: Asami’s gaze was full of cold resentment. There was a greater drive behind it, something beyond Korra, and yet—Asami didn’t seem to be completely sure. She was gazing at memory-Korra with distinct abhorrence, but the longer she looked, uncertainty grew in its stead.

“So, you found her,” someone behind them mused, causing Korra to nearly trip onto the tracks.

She’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Hiroshi Sato was gazing at memory-Korra with the same antipathy as his daughter—no, it was much more intense, much more resolute, irrevocable.

“F-father!” Asami stuttered.

Korra’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

Firstly, because she’d never heard anyone outside of a dramatic play or novel address their parental figure as such—but more so because—

 _She’s British,_ Korra realized. A lump was beginning to form in her throat. _Ilvermony really was… just another lie…_

There was no mistaking it—Asami’s voice was a pitch higher than the one Korra had grown accustomed to hearing, and her English was more delicate, more refined.

“I know that face,” Hiroshi continued as though Korra wasn’t standing right in front of him (technically, she wasn’t). “What are you thinking, Asami?”

Asami averted her gaze quickly, but Korra had caught it.

A look of doubt. Hesitance.

Finally—

“She’s just a child,” Asami muttered, peeking at memory-Korra. “I…I thought she would be an adult—a new professor or something. Not—not…the same age as me…”

Hiroshi’s eyes hardened.

“Don’t be swayed by her innocent appearance. She’s more dangerous than you think,” he growled.

Asami didn’t look entirely convinced. Her gaze only softened when she stole another glance at memory-Korra. “Are you sure?”

Hiroshi’s jaw clenched. He leaned closer to his daughter so that nobody would overhear (Korra had to inch closer as well, to her immense discomfort)—

“Don’t forget that that xenophobic bitch is the one who issued the order to liquidate your mother,” Hiroshi hissed in Asami’s ear.

Asami flinched—so did Korra.

She had done no such thing—hadn’t even known about Asami’s mother’s existence (or lack thereof) until she met Asami herself. In fact, the only ‘fire mage’ she knew personally was Mako (and now Hiroshi, allegedly), who had lost his parents to a similar situation.

 _Is he lying to her?_ Korra wondered.

Looking into Hiroshi’s eyes, she decided, _No, he really believes that._

Then _Amon_ was lying.

Korra’s hands curled into fists.

Asami bit her lip uncertainly.

At last, she replied with a grimace, “All right. You’re…you’re right.”

Pleased, Hiroshi nodded—and then patted Asami on the shoulder.

It was discernible even from a mile away, the way Asami jumped violently at the contact—the way her eyes darted to her father to see if he was upset by her reaction—

To her relief, her father seemed not to notice, too distracted by his own thoughts.

“Remember your mission,” Hiroshi said after a few seconds. “Remember your story. Where are you from?”

Asami cleared her throat. “Born in London. Grew up in America. Spent the last five years at Ilvermorny,” she rehearsed in a perfect American accent—in the very same voice Korra had found solace in over the last few months.

Korra felt like Asami had driven a stake through her heart.

Hiroshi nodded again, satisfied.

“Good girl.” He removed his hand from Asami’s shoulder and smoothened his robes—he was already dressed in professional attire. “I’ll be in Compartment C if you need anything.”

Asami waved her father off—and there was no mistaking the change in her body language once he was gone. Much calmer now that there was no imminent threat, Asami straightened, her shoulders set with all the grace and confidence of the heiress of Sato Industries—of the Equalist that had been sent to end Korra.

Asami boarded the train; then, with a wave of her wand, her luggage began floating. Korra trailed after her.

To Korra’s alarm, Asami seemed to know exactly where to go—no, she couldn’t have, for she didn’t know who Korra was until moments ago; she weaved in and out of roaming students expertly, plastering on a stunning smile that held no real sincerity. In that case, Asami really was that cunning, Korra deduced, for she soon arrived at the prefects’ compartment with absolutely no difficulty.

However, the heiress didn’t enter it, opting to wait around the corner with her floating luggage.

Korra followed Asami’s gaze—she was looking at memory-Korra through the glass. Memory-Korra was leaning against one of the pillars in the room (the prefects’ compartment was by far the largest and most lavish on the train), discussing something with Mako. All of the other prefects were there, as well—Bolin, Opal, Maddie, James, Blake, Yang, Tahno…

Korra hung her head in utter dejection.

_She planned this from the start…_

Then, Asami flattened herself against the wall and Korra’s head snapped up. The prefects were exiting the compartment—memory-Korra, Maddie, Bolin, and Mako were walking together.

They rounded the corner—the other one—and disappeared.

After a while, Asami crept after them, Korra edging along behind her.

If Korra was remembering correctly, she had done her rounds with Maddie, while Mako and Bolin had partnered up. However, for the first fifteen minutes, they had patrolled as a group, and then—

“We should split up,” Mako declared. “The Slytherins probably aren’t doing their rounds, we need to make sure we cover that area of the train.”

“I agree,” Maddie chimed in. “Why don’t you and Korra divide up the East Wing and Bolin and I will take the West? And then we can trade partners for North and South?”

There was a murmur of agreement—and then the party split, Mako and Korra to the parallel hallways to the right and Maddie and Bolin to the left. It was by some stroke of luck that they didn’t catch Asami—or rather, her razor-sharp wit—for with a flick of her wand the compartment behind her slid open noiselessly and she dived into it.

Fortunately—in Asami’s case, at least—the compartment was empty.

Korra watched Asami’s gaze follow memory-Korra around the corner and felt like vomiting again.

After a few moments, once the prefects had cleared out of the area, Asami tiptoed out of the empty compartment. She eyed the two hallways to the east; her gaze darted between them uncertainly—even Korra hadn’t seen, nor did she remember, which hallway she had used.

Asami eventually selected the left hallway, leaving Korra to dart after her hastily.

It was obvious, had always been—the way Asami moved, the expression on her face—it was all telling of a double-agent. A terrorist. An Equalist. And Korra had ignored it all.

Finally—

Korra could hear herself—the memory of her—just around the corner, murmuring something to Mako. She glanced sideways at Asami, who looked like she was preparing herself to jump headfirst into the Whomping Willow.

Then, without warning—

“Oof! Ugh…”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry—I-I didn’t see you!”

Asami had cast her luggage in front of her and lunged after it—before crashing straight into another human being.

 _Quite an elaborate guise,_ thought Korra.

Only, Asami hadn’t bumped into her target.

“How could you not see me?” Mako grouched irritably from the floor. “I mean, I was j-jus…” he trailed off, jaw going slack once he’d caught sight of Asami.

However, Asami wasn’t paying attention to him at all.

Her eyes were on memory-Korra’s back, which had just vanished around the opposite corner. There was no mistaking the look of defeat that crossed Asami’s face.

She glanced back down at Mako, who was gazing at her fondly, very pink in the face.

Korra saw it then—the look of resignation gradually morph into one of ingenuity.

Asami grabbed a hold of Mako’s arm and hoisted him to his feet with surprising strength.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Ugh, I’m such an idiot…”

The Hogwarts Express melted away.

“Agh!” Korra dived sideways and rolled onto all fours.

Only—

It was a memory.

Korra was now standing (or crouching, rather) on some kind of elevated platform. She was—they were—shrouded in darkness, save for the brilliant fluorescent lighting centered on the stage like a spotlight on an arena (they _were_ in an arena, Korra realized). Before her were two figures: an Equalist, garbed in what seemed to be an archaic uniform from when the movement was just beginning to garner public attention—and a younger Asami. Asami seemed to be somewhere between thirteen- and fourteen-years-old, as, for what would be the first and only time ever, she was shorter than Korra.

This Asami came up to just below Korra’s eyes, and her face was somewhat plumper, full of youth. There was a key element missing though—ingenuousness. Where there should’ve been the bright idealism of innocence, there was jadedness, resignation—a dull fire in her green eyes that spoke volumes of what she’d been through.

Asami, bruised, battered, perspiring, and breathless, was holding her wand up—had just launched a nasty curse—which Korra had just narrowly avoided (not that it would affect her, Korra realized belatedly). It had struck Asami’s opponent square in the chest.

From his unmoving form, Korra deduced the Equalist was unconscious.

“Not bad,” a voice murmured from the dark. Korra didn’t have to look to know who it was. “If only you were as good at defensive magic as you are at curses.”

Despite the age difference, there was nothing different about this Asami. For a split-second, the fire in her eyes roared to life—defiant, outraged—then, she lowered her gaze, and her shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry, father,” Asami muttered almost inaudibly.

Hiroshi stepped forward into the light. It was something like a noir painting, the villain emerging from the shadows, face caressed by harsh lighting, blinding truth—if only he looked. He was slightly gaunter than he was now, dark circles, poorly disguised by his spectacles, sitting below his eyes; the consequences of his alcoholism, probably more pertinent then, were evident.

“Apologizing won’t change anything,” he huffed. “Move onto the next spell.”

_The next spell? Is this some kind of performance? What am I seeing?_

Even at this age, even as a war machine in training, there was a flicker of empathy on Asami’s face. She glanced at the unconscious Equalist and then back at her father uncertainly.

“But he’s out cold,” Asami pointed out.

Hiroshi raised an eyebrow coldly. “And?”

“Enough,” a new voice rang out. There was no mistaking the authority—Korra couldn’t see who else was in the room, but could feel a shift in the atmosphere almost immediately; Asami and Hiroshi both straightened, faces tight, and Korra didn’t doubt anyone else present had the same reaction.

Korra had heard this voice only once before—no, a few times, in her visions—but it had been seared into her memory inexorably.

She saw his bamboo mask before she saw the rest of him. He stepped into the light slowly, dramatically, so that it trailed down his mask, to his robes, illuminating his silhouette with a sinister glow, until his shadow obscured the entire platform, like a predator swallowing its prey whole.

Korra’s legs gave out beneath her.

_Amon._

Only his eyes were visible—and they were more callous than Korra could’ve imagined. She had only looked for a fleeting moment, but she felt as if she’d been gazing into an empty shell, the carcass of an undead being with no soul.

Korra shivered violently, couldn’t bring herself to rise to her feet—

“Lieutenant, stand in for our comrade, here,” Amon ordered.

It was a whisper, but it seemed to reverberate throughout the chamber endlessly, echoing, echoing, echoing…

“Yes, Amon,” an unfamiliar voice retorted.

There was some shuffling, and then a lean, tall man dressed in a more elaborate, plated Equalist uniform mounted the stairs to the arena. In the place of a mask was a pair of green goggles that didn’t quite lend the same anonymity, but perhaps offered a different utilitarian purpose Korra knew nothing of. The man had a Fu Manchu mustache, and there was a kinder undertone to his gaze than that of his commander’s.

With a flick of Lieutenant’s wand, the unconscious Equalist began levitating, and slowly floated over to the side of the stage where several pairs of hands pulled him into the darkness. Korra assumed he was being treated, but the image had been anything but therapeutic.

Lieutenant then turned to face Asami, who dropped into a defensive stance without any further prompt. He mirrored her.

The two circled each other, until—

“The Fire Princess’s Curse,” Hiroshi crooned softly.

Asami’s eyes hardened.

_“Ignis Caeruleum!”_

There was no room for error—even if Korra didn’t want to believe it, the azure flames that leapt from Asami’s wand—they were the same. The very same flames that had crippled Korra for a week, the very same curse Asami had reversed when Korra had hit her head in class.

Korra’s heart sank.

_No…_

Lieutenant was nimble, hurling himself out of Asami’s reach—

But she didn’t stop.

“Nonverbally,” Hiroshi instructed.

Lieutenant was leaping, twirling, gliding—every time, just narrowly escaping the curse’s path—but Asami’s aura was unending. She brandished her wand again, and again, and blue flames just as powerful as the first burst from its tip each time—

It was a feat no wizard had managed in almost a century, and here it was something of a toddler’s task for an adolescent girl. She didn’t even have to open her mouth.

A murmur of approval ran through the invisible crowd.

“Stop,” Hiroshi ordered at last.

Asami complied immediately. Lieutenant was severely out of breath and heavily perspiring; at the command, he fell to his knees, using his hands as support to keep him from collapsing altogether.

First, silence.

Then—

It began with one clap, then two—and soon, the whole arena was thundering with applause. The fluorescent lights overhead grew incandescent—Korra had to shield her eyes—

When Korra’s eyes had adjusted, she lowered her hand to find herself in a stadium containing tens of thousands of Equalists.

Her legs gave out again.

_There…there’s so many of them…_

Korra wanted to cry.

Asami looked bashful. She rubbed her shoulder self-consciously, offering a half-smile to her audience. Korra’s head swiveled in all directions—and everywhere she looked, stood another Equalist, applauding their fellow comrade on her extraordinary accomplishment.

 _No, this isn’t a performance,_ Korra realized abruptly. _This is some sort of demonstration…an initiation? A test. They’re testing her…for what?_

Hiroshi looked displeased for some reason.

“You can manage the most legendary curse in wizarding history but you can’t cast a simple elemental spell?” he hissed from between his teeth.

Asami lowered her eyes. Her shoulders slumped again—and her hands were busy, twisting, interweaving, furling and then uncurling—

“ _I_ think she’s ready,” Lieutenant rasped between breaths, raising his head momentarily to glance at Amon.

His commander didn’t comment. He was studying Asami intently. Amon had his arms crossed behind his back, and though she couldn’t see his face, Korra was certain that his lips were pursed thoughtfully.

Hiroshi’s lip curled.

“Hardly. You want her to go up against the most powerful witch in the world at her current level?” Hiroshi scoffed. “She only knows how to cast offensive spells. The Chosen One would make mincemeat out of her.”

“No.” The syllable was quiet, hardly audible, yet it commanded the attention of the entire arena. Everyone fell silent—including Hiroshi, who hastily averted his gaze. “No, she’s perfect,” Amon all but purred.

He mounted the stairs to the platform and began circling Asami—who was several heads shorter than him. She kept her eyes trained on the floor.

Hiroshi looked like he was about to tear all of the hair off his own head.

“My daughter is hardly equipped to engage the Chosen One—the master of _all four elements_ —without even a single elemental spell under her belt—” Hiroshi began to protest but Amon cut him off sharply.

“Silence,” he hissed, and Hiroshi shrank away like a dog that had been kicked by its master. The masked insurgent eyed Hiroshi (now kneeling) coldly. “Don’t get too arrogant because of your new title, Sato. Only I determine our comrades’ assignments—do I make myself clear?”

Hiroshi nodded meekly.

“Good,” Amon whispered, turning away from him. He faced Asami. “Viper is a prodigy. I’ve never seen a wizard cast spells at that level at her age. She’s brilliant, determined, strong…she’ll do well for what I have in mind…” Amon trailed off mysteriously. Whatever that was, he didn’t elaborate, chuckling ominously. His laughter seemed to echo throughout the stadium, which remained dead silent—nobody dared to breathe. Then, Amon sighed, now bored, and turned back to Hiroshi, seeking new entertainment. “You don’t _really_ want her to be an elemental mage, do you? That was what got young Yasuko killed in the first place…”

Hiroshi flinched but said nothing.

_Yasuko…? Is that…Asami’s mother?_

Asami’s hands curled into fists—but they were trembling.

“No,” Amon continued, patting young Asami on the shoulder, “Viper is much, much better than that…. We wouldn’t want the Order to collect her and sentence her to the same fate, now, would we?”

_Order? What Order?_

Korra never got her answer.

The arena faded away.

Then, Korra was in a dark hallway. She was peeking through a cracked door at—Asami?

“Mummy?”

Korra glanced down. There was a child beside her, a child with raven locks and glittering green eyes.

Then—

“Asami? What are you doing up, sweetie?”

The woman—Asami’s mother, Korra realized—rose from her stool.

She was the spitting image of her daughter, with sharper features and curlier hair. However, there was an ingenuousness about her—in the glimmer of her eyes, the soft of her smile—that Korra had never seen on Asami. Yasuko Sato was beautiful.

 _Young,_ Korra realized, stomach churning as she recalled how this story ended.

“I had a nightmare,” Asami mumbled–it was muffled, almost like she had a lisp.

Korra glanced down again. Asami’s front tooth was missing—her first baby tooth.

“You and me both,” Yasuko murmured.

She held her arms open, and Asami was sitting in her lap before Korra could fully process the gesture. She blinked and then let herself into the room.

It was a brewery, Korra realized shortly. Not for alcohol—rather, a potion brewery. The room was packed from end to end with various ingredients (jars of pickled remains, fragrant herbs, limbs severed from mystical creatures), several books on potioneering, cauldrons, half-empty kits with contents sprawling across the marble floor...

The brewery seemed to be one of many rooms in what must’ve been the Sato mansion. It was on the top floor; there was no concrete ceiling—rather, very modern skylights, permitting the passage of moonlight, which painted the room with harsh shadows and stark contrasts.

Despite the stools and other furniture in the chamber, Yasuko and Asami were sitting on the floor. Beside them bubbled a cauldron full of—Amortentia? It must’ve been, for there was no mistaking the mother-of-pearl sheen. (It smelled different, Korra noted.)

“What did you see, Mummy?” Asami inquired, tugging at the hem of Yasuko’s robes.

Yasuko bit her lip. “Do you promise not to tell your father?”

Asami giggled _._

The graveness of the request had obviously escaped the child.

“Did you dream something bad about Daddy?”

For a moment, something dark and poignant, far beyond her years, crossed Yasuko’s face. Then, it was gone, and she smiled down at her daughter impishly.

“I dreamed…” Yasuko paused for dramatic effect, gazing off into the distance.

Both Korra and Asami leaned forward unconsciously towards Yasuko, as though expecting to gain this coveted knowledge through osmosis. Growing impatient with her mother’s antics, Asami reached for Yasuko’s robes again, mouth twisting into an unsatisfied scorn–

“HE TURNED INTO A MONSTER!” Yasuko bellowed.

Asami screamed and tumbled backwards, short, undeveloped limbs doing little to break her fall.

Yasuko caught her, but Asami’s embarrassment wasn’t assuaged by her mother’s roaring laughter.

“Mummy!” Asami whined. “That wasn’t funny.”

Yasuko disagreed, obviously. She laughed while Asami waited, arms crossed in a serious display of upset.

Once again, the allusion had eluded little Asami.

But Korra knew better.

She saw Asami transform into Amon, saw Lin get her magic taken away, saw Dementors swooping into the orphanage—

Yasuko hadn’t been joking.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Yasuko finally apologized with a very unapologetic grin.

Asami scowled.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Yasuko agreed, eyes twinkling.

Asami’s pout deepened. Chuckling, Yasuko pulled Asami (despite her opposition) back against her and wrapped an arm around her daughter’s waist. Asami’s resistance crumbled when Yasuko began stroking her hair.

“Do you want to talk about what you saw?” Yasuko pressed gently.

The joviality of the moment died, and Asami lowered her eyes.

“Only if you promise not to get upset,” she mumbled unintelligibly.

Yasuko tilted her head. “Why would I be upset with you? You can’t control what you dream, sweetie.”

“I…” Asami stole a glance at her mother and then quickly looked away. “I hope it never happens in real life,” she added hastily.

“It won’t.”

Asami fidgeted in her mother’s lap.

“Do you promise?”

Yasuko’s eyes were warm.

“I promise.”

Asami was quiet for several minutes. Then–

“…You were gone.”

Yasuko said nothing. She waited for Asami to continue patiently.

“I…I don’t know where you went. Or-or if you were even–” Asami’s voice cracked, and she abandoned that prospect “–Daddy and I were all alone, Mummy–you weren’t there anymore–”

Asami broke into sobs before she could finish her sentence.

Yasuko, recognizing that Asami couldn’t go on, caressed her daughter’s face tenderly.

“Asami? Asami, look at me.”

Asami met her mother’s eyes–a stunning reflection of her own.

“Sweetie, I’m not going anywhere,” Yasuko said pointedly. “Ever.”

Asami glimpsed up at her mother. “Never ever?”

“Never ever.”

Asami fiddled with her fingers uncertainly.

“But…but what if it’s not up to you?” she asked slowly.

Yasuko raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“What if…what if someone tries to take you away from us?”

Yasuko smiled, and then gestured at the portrait above the mantel.

“We’re always protected, Asami.”

The brewery was dark, shreds of moonlight serving as the only source of illumination, but it was all the light Korra needed to identify the man in the frame.

“But Aang the Chosen is gone now,” Asami pointed out dismally.

Yasuko’s smile didn’t waver. (Aang was beaming down at her affectionately, and Korra couldn’t help but feel as though they had known each other.)

“And there’s a new Chosen One in his place.”

Asami’s eyes lit up.

“There is?”

“Yes. She’s training in the Southern Wizarding Tribe right now.”

Asami chewed on her lip.

“And she’ll protect us?”

“She will.”

**You were wrong, Mother.**

 

* * *

 

When Korra resurfaced, the Equalist was on the floor, stock still, as if paralyzed—she was, Korra had cast a Body-Bind Curse on her, just didn’t remember—

“You—” Korra kneeled before the Equalist, all but ripped the mask off “— _you_!”

Raven locks tumbled out of the headgear—

Asami lay still, unable to move, speak.

“No, it—it wasn’t supposed to be you!” Korra threw the mask behind her. “I wanted it to not be true. Make it untrue!” she shouted at the motionless figure.

Asami gazed up at Korra wordlessly, terrified, guilty, dismal.

Korra’s eyes were stinging—everything hurt—

She turned away, clutching at her stomach. She suddenly felt nauseous again, and wanted nothing more than to empty the contents of her stomach onto the ground—along with every other memory from the past few months.

Korra had known—part of her had always known—so she didn’t know why it hurt so much. Why, it felt like someone had reached inside of her and yanked out a piece of her, along with every appendage that allowed her to breathe; she felt empty, cold, _furious_ —

They hadn’t even been friends that long. A little over a month. A month and a half, tops. (The first month hardly counted, given it was mostly sparse interactions fueled by petty jealousy on Korra’s part.)

But she’d talked to Asami every single day since, spent every single instance of free time with her, saw her every morning in class, ate with her, studied with her, laughed with her—bared herself in her most vulnerable moments to someone who had been sent to ruin her.

“YOU LIED!” Korra roared. “EVERYTHING—EVERYTHING YOU SAID TO ME—I BELIEVED YOU, I _TRUSTED_ YOU—”

Korra’s concentration was slipping—

“Korra, I didn’t—”

Asami had regained control of her voice. Korra turned on her—

_“SILENCIO!”_

Korra looked away again, face screwed shut in anguish. Her hands were shaking with anger, she could barely hold onto her wand—was she crying? She couldn’t tell, her head was throbbing—a great weight had been shoved into the pit of her stomach, where it grew heavier and heavier until the world—her world—combusted.

Korra had wanted to be wrong. She had wanted all of her fears and suspicions to be a product of insecurity. She had wanted Lin to be wrong. She had wanted Mako to be right.

God, _Mako_ —Mako didn’t even know—

“Don’t talk to me,” Korra spat finally. She wasn’t even facing Asami, couldn’t tell if Asami could hear her—didn’t care. “Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t all a lie. You were sent to use me. To use my _best friend_. You _hurt_ me. And I—”

 _I want to hurt_ you.

_“Look, just because you hurt me doesn’t mean I want to hurt you.”_

Korra choked.

_“You could never disappoint me.”_

Hurt, hurt—everything _hurt_ —

Korra didn’t get to finish her sentence.

_“Expelliarmus!”_

“What—”

Korra’s wand flew out of her hand—she turned around, but it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” Asami whispered.

She was on her feet, had her wand in one hand, her mask in the other.

Her eyes were watering.

 _“Look, you don’t have to be sorry to me about_ anything.”

“Don’t be,” Korra sneered. “You mean nothing to me.”

Silence.

Asami looked like Korra had just slapped her.

They gazed at one another across the clearing. Silence filled the space between them, stretching on infinitely, as did the divide...

Korra broke eye contact first, looking away bitterly. (There was a rush of thoughts and emotions running through Asami’s mind—and Korra wanted nothing to do with it).

A single tear ran down Asami’s cheek.

Then, she pulled her mask over her face, brandished her wand, and disappeared into a cloud of dust.

When the dust cleared, the black flames were gone.

 

* * *

 

Korra never caught up with the others.

Almost immediately after Asami had vanished, Korra had been ushered back to the castle by Iroh, who had materialized out of thin air. He’d insisted that the others were fine, that all the students had been rescued and that Korra’s safety was the priority, but Korra found that she cared little for that—or anything at all.

She was numb.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, the entire school seemed to be waiting for them.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Suyin sighed in relief when she caught sight of Korra. She embraced the latter and mouthed, ‘Thank you,’ at Iroh, who saluted in return.

When Korra pulled back, Iroh was gone.

“Why don’t you go line up with everyone else?” Suyin suggested, ushering Korra towards the Gryffindors.

Korra allowed herself to be pulled into the crowd—by whom, she wasn’t sure, wasn’t paying attention.

Students were murmuring to one another, teachers were flitting around, aurors were guarding the entrance—everyone was in a state of panic. There were frantic hands all about—pushing, shoving, pulling—Korra was jostled more times than she could count. Behind her, there was shouting—the purebloods were accusing the muggle-borns of staging this, of allowing the Equalists to enter—but Korra was hardly paying attention.

She only had eyes for one set of students.

Korra found them eventually, in the midst of the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. The twins were battered (Wei was limping) but otherwise fine, Tu and Terrace were standing with Jinora and Kai (to Korra’s relief), but most importantly, Bolin was slung over Mako and Opal’s shoulders. He looked pale, shaken, but as far as Korra could tell, he seemed unharmed. Pema was talking to them in hushed undertones, gesturing rapidly—probably trying to figure out a treatment plan for Bolin—

But Korra had seen all she’d needed to see, and the last of her concern (along with every other emotion) dissipated.

Several events transpired—roll call after roll call, security checks, perimeter patrolling, announcements—but Korra was in a daze.

Lin was saying something—something about new security measures—no, they were going back to the old ones, students would have to sleep in the teacher’s quarters, again—

Then—

“Sato! You’re late!”

Korra froze.

Sure enough, Asami was stumbling into the Great Hall, hair disheveled, clothes ruffled—as if she had only just pulled them on—

Korra averted her gaze.

“S-sorry, I was working on something,” Asami mumbled.

A perfect American accent. Another perfect lie.

“A likely story,” Lin snorted.

“It’s true, Lin. She was with me,” a familiar voice purred.

Korra had never detested Hiroshi Sato more than she did in that moment.

She stole a glance. Hiroshi was smiling at Lin. His eyes were provocative, as though daring Lin to challenge the alibi—his authority, in effect. Lin scowled; she exchanged a glance with Tenzin, who shook his head subtly.

Relenting, she barked, “Fine. Get in line so we can finish roll call.”

Asami nodded without making eye contact.

She started shuffling towards the Ravenclaws—paused, looked towards the Gryffindors—

Korra looked away.

(Lin was saying something again.)                     

“…now that everyone is accounted for, all students are to report directly to the teacher’s quarters. You will be escorted by your respective Head of House—except for Gryffindor, which will be led by my sister. Prefects, Student Heads, I want you to assemble in my office—"

Korra walked out of the hall before Lin could finish.

(The doors slammed shut behind her, muting all traces of the day’s events.)

She’d nearly reached the third floor (where Lin’s office was) before the retired auror caught up to her.

“Korra, wait—”

She obliged.

“I need to talk to you.”

_So talk._

Lin skidded to a halt before Korra. She looked momentarily disoriented by Korra’s blatant indifference. Then, regaining her composure, she grabbed Korra’s shoulder and pulled her close, even though they were the only ones in the corridor.

“Did you see anything odd while you were out there?” Lin demanded quietly.

Korra blinked.

“Odd?” she asked disinterestedly.

(She knew exactly what Lin was talking about.)

Lin bit her lip and glanced around anxiously. “You know, like anything pertaining to what we…what we discussed,” she muttered.

Korra remained impassive. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for Lin to continue.

The latter sighed impatiently and then leaned in closer.

“Did you see Sato?” Lin whispered.

Asami lay still, gazing up at Korra. She was paralyzed.

Korra met Lin’s eyes.

“No,” she lied.


	11. Precious Memories

Korra skipped Potions the following day.

She had considered going straight to Raiko, but there was little tangible evidence pointing to Hiroshi other than her own word. That would also mean revealing her Legilimency, which was generally frowned upon by the general wizarding community for its resemblance to the Dark Arts; she’d also have to explain how she’d acquired it, to which, she had no answer, beyond a two-word phrase that meant nothing to anyone besides Amon, apparently. Moreover, Korra’s word had little credibility with Raiko, who resented her for a number of reasons (mostly to do with her incessant denouncement of him), while Hiroshi Sato still helmed the most successful magical supplies manufacturing company in the world and held public opinion in the palm of his hand.

So, she would have to wait.

Korra was probably infringing on several national laws regarding treason, but it could wait.

There was something she needed to do that couldn’t.

“Korra?” Tarrlok sounded genuinely surprised. “I didn’t expect you so early in the morning. In fact, we don’t have class together until tomorrow. Also, I believe you’re violating security protocol by traveling alone—it would be a shame for Gryffindor to lose more House points…but I won’t deduct any, since we’re on friendly terms.”

 _Cut the crap,_ thought Korra.

“I need to talk to you about the task force,” was what she said. “Sir,” she added as an afterthought.

Tarrlok’s smile didn’t waver, but the tips of his fingers curled against the book he was holding. 

“Of course,” he purred after a moment. He closed his book ( _Performing with and Against a Basilisk_ ) and folded his hands on the desk. “What would you like to discuss?”

Korra pulled her task force uniform out of her bookbag. She was still standing by the door, several feet away from Tarrlok’s desk; she tossed the uniform unceremoniously across the floor, where it slid against what had to be centuries of dust until it hit Tarrlok’s feet with a muted _thump._ Korra flung her ‘Captain’ badge atop the discarded pile.

Tarrlok continued smiling, but his knuckles had gone white.                       

“I’m quitting,” Korra declared.

Tarrlok raised an eyebrow. “Following an Equalist attack so close to home?”

“If we were any good, that wouldn’t have happened in the first place, would it?” Korra countered.

Tarrlok’s lip curled. Then, he exhaled through his mouth, composed himself. “Perhaps you’re right. Which is all the more reason we need someone like you on the team.” His eyes were glinting mischievously. “I heard you took down an Equalist and extinguished the village fires single-handedly.”

Korra grimaced. Of course, there was no hiding that from the faculty—not with her personal bodyguard, who appeared only in times of extreme peril and then vanished as though he’d never existed in the first place, as their personal reporter on all things Korra-related.

She crossed the room and slammed a hand down on Tarrlok’s desk.

“Look,” Korra snarled, “your task force is one of the reasons people like the Equalists exist in the first place. And now you’re alienating muggle-born students for something they didn’t even do.”

Tarrlok was unfazed.

“And if they do?” he asked softly. “If they do the things we accuse them of?”

“Then you drove them to it,” Korra hissed, inches away from Tarrlok’s face.

They gazed at each other wordlessly—Korra, glowering, Tarrlok, smirking. He tapped his fingers against his knuckles, as though counting down to something.

Then—

“Is that all you wanted to discuss?” he inquired calmly.

 _No, it isn’t,_ Korra thought to herself.

But Tarrlok’s gaze suggested otherwise. There was something provocative in it, as though he was challenging Korra to speak up—as though he knew precisely what she was thinking, what she wanted to discuss—he did, and Korra had to steel herself. She didn’t know if she could actually repel him, not after one poor Occlumency lesson, but she tried, all the same.

They were so close to each other that Korra could see the flecks of silver in his eyes—steel blue. They looked oddly familiar—not just because she saw them every other day, but as though reminiscent of someone else she’d met before…no, the feeling was too vague to be an actual encounter…

“Yes, sir,” Korra spat finally.

Tarrlok’s smirk broadened.

“Are you sure?”

There _was_ something else—something more Korra wanted to say, but she didn’t, for fear of exposing Asami.

Then, she was suspicious. If Tarrlok knew—had known all this time—why hadn’t he said anything?

_What are you plotting?_

“I’m sure.”

Korra’s fists were shaking at her sides.

“Then you may leave,” Tarrlok dismissed her coolly, gesturing to the door.

Korra had just reached it when he called after her–

“It’s a shame, Korra. I was really hoping you could see things my way.”

They were in Tarrlok’s office, and to Korra’s shock, outside of a sleek desk and a bookshelf, the dungeon was exactly as bare as it was during the task force meetings.

As she wandered down the corridor, she couldn’t help but feel that the Satos weren’t the only ones hiding something.

 

* * *

 

“Y’know, I was kind of hoping for ignorance,” Korra commented, gazing down at Bolin. “Just once.”

She had just finished Care of Magical Creatures, and rounded Bumi’s hut to find Bolin pouring over the latest copy of the _Daily Prophet._

Bolin was an excellent Care of Magical Creatures student, perhaps the most able in all of Hogwarts. Bumi had recognized his gift with animals and selected him as a teaching assistant—despite the fact that Bolin had yet to take his O.W.L.s. (Hence, Korra and Bolin always walked back to the castle together after class.)

“Knowledge is power,” Bolin murmured absentmindedly.

He was sitting cross-legged on a stump, flipping the newspaper back and forth repeatedly; there seemed to be an abundance of interesting news, and he seemed unable to decide which story he wanted to finish first.

“You sure? We know, and we’re still powerless,” Korra pointed out.

“Maybe we don’t know everything,” Bolin countered, to Korra’s surprise.

She hadn’t expected such intuitiveness on Bolin’s part.

“Fair.” Korra tilted her head towards the castle questioningly.

“Yeah,” Bolin agreed, sighing and heaving himself to his feet, “I’ll tell you on the way.” He turned around and pulled something–something _alive_ out of his robes. “Bye Pabu.”

(Korra wondered how long the fire ferret had been in there.)

Bolin kneeled down to press his nose to Pabu’s, who returned the gesture just as animatedly. As if on cue, Naga bounded out of Bumi’s hut to kiss (lick) Korra farewell—Bumi on her heels.

“Wait! I just planted some cabbages!” he cried in vain.

There was a small garden towards the rear of the hut (a slight wooden structure that seemed to magnify in size on the inside), where Bolin had been tending to the plants; Naga stomped all over the patches of freshly planted earth without the slightest indication of remorse.

Korra grinned apologetically at Bumi, who had collapsed onto his knees in a dramatic display of defeat.

“Bad girl,” Korra scolded, waving a finger in Naga’s face admonishingly.

The polar bear dog only barked in return, as if to accuse Korra of being one.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” the latter sighed. “I haven’t visited you nearly enough since the…” she trailed off.

It was no longer just ‘the attack’ to her, and this knowledge—like that which she had been avoiding adamantly for the last few days—was unbearable.

So Korra averted her gaze, didn’t think about it. She patted Naga on the nuzzle one last time before nodding at Bolin, who was waiting by the garden gate.

“Bye Bumi,” they chorused over their shoulder.

Bumi waved them off dismissively, too busy lamenting the death of his unborn cabbages.

“So?” Korra whispered once they were out of earshot.

She didn’t want to know—not really. But part of her knew—or suspected—that it was her responsibility now (her responsibility which she still knew nothing of).

It had been a few days since the raid on Hogsmeade, and while the village had been repaired quickly, given that the turnaround time of any magical endeavor was virtually zero, community morale had been absolutely obliterated. Hogsmeade trips had effectively been banned for the rest of the year (or until Amon was brought to justice, but no one was holding out for this). To make matters worse, the families who’d been evacuated from their homes never returned, even after the reconstruction; this left the few brave businessowners who remained in the area with little to no income.

At Hogwarts, the days following the attack saw an influx of mail from home, _Evening Prophet_ s, and increased agitation and hostility—especially on the part of the purebloods (Korra had deducted more points from Slytherin than she could recall). Every security protocol implemented at the beginning of the year had been reinstated and was being enforced more rigorously than ever (the only exception being that the Quidditch teams had been allowed to stay in practice, under the watchful eye of a team of aurors).

“Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Bolin began, glancing over the cover of the _Prophet_. “What do you want to hear first?”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “Surprise me.”

“Well, the good news—” Korra was entirely unsurprised that Bolin would select this option first “—is that a lot of the Equalists that were captured at Hogsmeade were revealed to be under the Imperius Curse.”

Korra’s eyes lit up. “So, not as many people are actually devoted to the cause as we suspected?”

Bolin nodded. “But that also means Amon is powerful enough to control multiple people—we’re talking hundreds—at one time,” he reminded her.

Korra’s heart sank.

“Right…” she mumbled.

Bolin nudged her shoulder (slumped) with his own, bearing one of his signature sunny smiles. “Hey, at least we know we’re standing up for the right thing. Asami would be proud.”

Korra wanted to throw up.

“What else?” she asked shortly. She was suddenly busy with the nails on her left hand.

Bolin glanced back down at the newspaper. “Well, the rest is all bad…”

_It can’t be as bad as what you don’t know about your best friend._

“Just tell me.”

Bolin bit his lip. “Well…you know Mako’s vision? The one about the muggle-born riots?”

Korra suddenly felt hollow.

“No,” she breathed.

Bolin nodded.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Bolin wordlessly handed Korra the copy of the _Daily Prophet._

Sure enough, under the fold, the second article on the front page was about—

_"There was more to it—I saw student protests, riots all over England…”_

The moving pictures were blurry, but there was no mistaking the fires. Witches and wizards (presumably muggle-borns) were marching down the streets of London, Birmingham, Manchester, chanting something, waving their wands, sending out red sparks—the universal signal for emergencies in the wizarding world.

Based on the article’s date, the protests had immediately followed the raid on Hogsmeade. It wasn’t entirely unexpected—the attack _had_ been accompanied by a surge of anti-muggle-born sentiments, but Korra couldn’t help but feel that they should’ve given it more time.

The next set of photos depicted forced arrests—violent outbursts, malignant curses, the use of some kind of toxic fumes or potions—all under orders from the xenophobic Hou-Ting, which only added fuel to the fire…

It looked something like the Stonewall Riots, but with none of the historical significance or moral clarity.

The very last sentence in the article was bolded—no, it wasn’t, but it may as well have been: _Any known Equalists or Equalist conspirators will be sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss upon detainment._

The blood drained from Korra’s face.

“It’s really happening,” she whispered at last.

She felt removed from the situation, as though she were somewhere remote, underwater, watching herself through the hazy screen, discovering a reality—one of many—she knew she could never truly escape.

Bolin nodded grimly. “Can you blame them? They’re being accused of something they didn’t do—some of them even being framed and forced—and nobody is taking their side. They’re basically being treated like garbage all over again. You’d think the civil rights movement Aang and Lord Zuko led would’ve straightened things out by now.”

Korra shook her head. “If that had worked, Amon would’ve never been able to rise in the first place.”

Bolin opened his mouth to refute the claim—then his eyes widened—

“Korra, look out!”

Korra had barely glanced up from the newspaper before Bolin flung himself in front of her.

Then, she saw it.

A snake, fangs bared, frozen mid-leap. Its eyes were trained on Korra—its intended prey.

Of course, Bolin was much larger, much more aware, and much more unexpected. The snake hesitated, tail swishing impatiently as its beady eyes darted between Korra and Bolin.

“C’mon, little one, we don’t want to hurt you,” Bolin coaxed gently, lowering his hands (which had been extended in front of him protectively).

Korra used the distraction to reach for her wand—she fumbled, nearly dropped it—she feared she would be too slow, that Bolin would get bit in the process—

To her immense disbelief, the snake relaxed. It retracted its fangs, lowered its tail—gazed at Bolin unfathomably.

Korra nearly dropped her wand in shock.

“What’s it doing out here?” she wondered aloud once she’d gathered her wits.

“Probably scuttled out of the Forbidden Forest,” Bolin stated before tilting his head towards said location. “Go on, little fella. Go back home.”

Korra hadn’t anticipated an actual reaction from the snake, but it stunned her into silence once again. It tilted its head at Bolin, as though in understanding, and then slithered off in the direction of the forest.

Bolin only shrugged when Korra gaped at him.

Baffled, she fell in step with him again as they resumed their journey.

At last, they arrived inside the castle (the aurors posted in front gave them a polite nod). The Entrance Hall was deserted, given that the rest of Korra’s classmates had long since arrived and classes were over for the day.

“How are you doing, by the way?” Korra asked as they mounted the marble staircase.

Bolin’s face tightened—

_Amon gazed down at him coldly. “You’re the Chosen One’s friend, aren’t you?”_

_He let out a shrill, scraping laugh—a single syllable, yet it echoed out over the town square, through the flames, over the heads of all the other bound students._

_Bolin was gagged; he couldn’t reply._

_Amon leaned down, so that his masked face was just beside Bolin’s._

_“I’ll make sure to take special care of you,” Amon purred into Bolin’s ear, “just like I did with your orphan friends.”_

Korra looked away quickly.

Bolin let out a shaky breath. “Um…I mean, if I don’t think about it, I’m…I’m okay, I guess.”

Korra winced.

_Right. I probably shouldn’t have said anything._

“How are your healing sessions with Pema going?” she inquired instead.

Bolin seemed to relax at this change of subject. “Good. She said I should be able to go back to Defense Against the Dark Arts classes after next week.”

While Bolin had emerged from the raid mostly unscathed, he’d been rescued in the nick of time; Amon hadn’t completely stripped him of his magic, but he’d begun the process–leaving Bolin with considerable internal damage. For the most part, there were no physical injuries, but his ability to cast combative spells had been compromised. Pema had been healing him since, but she was no Katara, so the process had been rather sluggish. (Bolin had told Korra all of this while delirious on healing potions, so she hadn’t been able to extract the full story; even though he’d recovered significantly now, she didn’t have the heart to ask for the rest.)

Korra gazed at Bolin. Despite the smile on his face, his usually bright eyes were devoid of life; there was something haunting there, something permanent, irrevocable—perhaps not the loss of his magic, but the loss of innocence. She thought of his astute remark earlier, and realized he wasn’t as ingenuous as she believed—at least, not anymore. Not after everything he’d been through these past few months.

Then, guilt.

While it’d only been a few days, and Korra _had_ visited Bolin in the hospital wing on the first day in spite of her mounting workload, she hadn’t once bothered to check on him until now, too busy dealing with—or rather, avoiding—her own battle scars.

“Let me know if you need anything, Bo,” Korra said finally.

She reached out to squeeze Bolin’s shoulder and was met with a small, strained smile.

“Thanks. Let’s go meet up with the others, yeah?”

The walk to the library was relatively quiet. Korra knew what would be waiting for them—or rather, who—and was entirely unprepared to face the challenge.

She had little choice in the matter—she couldn’t avoid it, she wanted to see everyone, and she couldn’t be honest, because—

“Finally! What took you two so long?”

Everyone, or at least, their usual ‘everyone,’ was there: Mako, Wing, Wei, Opal, and—

Silence.

While everyone else was lounging on cushions and chairs (Wei, on the table, with a yo-yo), Asami had stood abruptly the instant Korra had entered the library. Korra glanced at her—held her eyes for a moment. Asami said nothing, but there was an urgency in her gaze; she made no requests, but there was an infuriating, sickening look of remorse on her face—

Korra looked away bitterly.

There was discernible tension in the room—everyone was looking at Asami, who was still standing—and then at Korra, who refused to look at her—

“Sorry, had a run in with a little visitor from the Forbidden Forest,” Korra answered half-heartedly.

The introduction of more compelling information fortunately drew everyone’s attention away.

Mako was on his feet in an instant.

“What? Are you okay?” he demanded, approaching Korra.

Mako grabbed her shoulders and searched her eyes before she could fully process what’d just happened. From the corner of her eye, Korra saw Asami narrow her eyes at them before resignation crossed her face and she reassumed her seat.

Korra frowned.

_What’s it to you? It’s not like you actually care about your ‘boyfriend’…_

But everyone was gazing at her expectantly, worriedly, so—

“Fine,” Korra replied, patting one of Mako’s hands. “It was just a little snake, nothing magical or crazy. Plus, your little brother here is a snake-whisperer.”

Mako dropped his hands from Korra in shock. He turned on Bolin as if to demand an explanation.

“She’s exaggerating,” the latter chuckled (there was a strained note to his laughter).

“Well, I’m glad you lot are fine,” Opal breathed in relief, kissing Bolin’s cheek as he took the available seat beside her.

“I’m glad _you_ lot are fine,” Korra retorted, taking the cushion beside Wing.

Outside of the brief encounter at the Great Hall (in which, she hadn’t even spoken to them) and the single hospital visit, Korra hadn’t actually had a chance to connect with her friends since the attack. Bolin had been bed-ridden, Opal had been assigned to a different teacher’s quarters, conversations regarding prefect duty with Mako hardly counted as real interaction, and there was little said between her and the twins in between classes (the circumstances too heavy for any real joviality, even from Wei).

Korra hadn’t returned to Potions classes yet—she knew she couldn’t avoid Hiroshi forever, knew that if she missed the next lesson, she would be dropped from the N.E.W.T. level—but found only a thread of self-discipline in the place of motivation.

“You worry too much,” Wei remarked, waving his hand dismissively.

Korra bit her lip. She wanted to point out that she had yet to encounter Amon face-to-face, that she had only fought one Equalist while her friends, children, effectively, had charged into a war waged by adults, risking the permanent loss of a crucial piece of themselves. But, glancing at Bolin, who’d tensed at the (vague) mention of the attack—

“So, it’s true?” Korra asked instead, carefully.

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Everyone exchanged glances—everyone except Asami, who gazed at the floor.

That was all the confirmation Korra needed, really, but she held her tongue.

“Yeah,” Wing said finally. “We saw him do it.”

“He got through like five or six students,” Opal added.

Korra’s stomach churned.

While the number could’ve been worse, it was still a significant toll on the magical community at large—and more so, those who had lost their sense of purpose in the world they had been raised. Before Amon, only one other person had lost their magic in the history of wizardry—but that had been a villain, at the hands of a hero, not children, at the hands of a murderer. She’d noticed a few students missing from her classes but had hoped it was out of shock, not irreversible damage to their lives…

“The good news is that he can only do one person at a time,” Wei interjected. “We got there before—” he glanced at Bolin “—y’know. And once we started making a scene, that helped the aurors and task force get involved and take things from there. But if he was any faster…”

He trailed off, letting the implications of the unfinished statement hang over them like an unbearable, insufferable menace—one that threatened to swallow them whole.

“Did you guys hear about the storm?” Opal piped up, sensing everyone’s discomfort.

“Yeah, I heard someone single-handedly took out the fires with elemental magic,” Wing chimed in.

Mako and Bolin glanced at each other, and then, very subtly, at Korra. When she nodded (as discreetly as she could manage), they looked at each other again with a mixture of awe and pride.

“No way, that’s rubbish. I bet the aurors did it and some morons are spreading rumors,” Wei huffed, fiddling with his yo-yo. “The only elemental mages I know in this area are these three—” all three Beifongs had been present when the trio had discovered their powers; Mako had completely singed off Wei’s eyebrow “—and none of them have that kind of power. No offense.”

“None taken,” Korra replied, to Mako and Bolin’s immense amusement.

“Anyway,” Wei continued, “what about you, Korra? We never caught up with you. Did you see anything interesting out there?”

Everyone turned to Korra.

Korra gazed at Asami, who was looking at the floor, before glancing back at Wei.

“No,” she lied.

“Was the fight cool, at least?” Wei inquired, as though they were discussing a muggle boxing match, not a very personal life-and-death situation.

Korra laughed. “Hardly. I got my arse handed to me and then it started raining and everyone cleared out.”

“Aw, boo,” Wei pouted.

Both Opal and Wing elbowed him.

“Love, are you all right? You’ve been awfully quiet,” Mako commented, glancing at Asami.

She was tucked under his arm in an apathetic embrace—Korra didn’t know when that had happened; in a way, that was how it had always been with Mako and Asami, she supposed. At first, overbearing, saturated with passion—then it had all fizzled out, leaving a hardly noticeable dynamic in its wake.

 _Had it ever been real?_ Korra wondered.

“Yeah, I’m just…I feel bad I missed everything. And I’m the only muggle-born here,” Asami lied perfectly.

Korra’s fingernails pierced the skin of her palms.

“Why don’t you lot go to evening role call without us? I need to talk to Asami,” she suggested before Mako could reply.

It was more of an order than a request.

Mako raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“Lady business,” Korra retorted, knowing the mere mention of such a topic would send everyone in the room but Opal scurrying.

She was right (Opal left out of courtesy).

Korra waited until her friends had left the library to turn on Asami, who was fiddling with her hands. Her nervous tick.

 _She should be nervous,_ thought Korra.

“Just ask,” she sighed impatiently. “I know you’ve been dying to ask.”

Asami jumped—glanced up at her in shock. She only gazed at Korra for a moment before her eyes darted away, as though looking at Korra burned.

The question was barely audible, even in the stillness of the library (empty, other than them), but Korra still heard it.

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

There were so many jumbled thoughts racing through Korra’s head—now that she was standing before Asami, now that Asami wasn’t just a face in her Defense Against the Dark Arts class or an abstraction that would occasionally permeate her barricade of denial, the flood was inexorable, once more.

It was there again—that fresh, searing agony, like a flesh wound, like her entire center had been torn out, and she was being forced to hobble around without it. Like she had to pretend everything was fine, like the edges of her wound, flagrant, aching, weren’t eating away at her slowly, consuming her entirely in the path of decay.

Korra exhaled deeply.

She steeled herself, met Asami’s eyes (beautiful, emerald, trembling).

“Because Mako likes you,” Korra said slowly. “Because he likes you so much, and I don’t have the heart to tell him that he means nothing to you.”

Asami flinched.

“T-that’s not true,” she protested, and Korra’s jaw clenched.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up—stop talking in that stupid fake accent—_

Korra was beginning to see red again—no, not today. Not this time, not now.

Asami wasn’t worth it.

“You’re _using_ him. You’ve always been using him,” Korra hissed through gritted teeth.

Asami grimaced. “But that doesn’t mean he means nothing to me—”

“Save it,” Korra spat. “You got your answer, are you satisfied? Will you stop looking at me like a kicked puppy now?”

Asami flinched again, as though Korra had slapped her. She lowered her gaze briefly before glancing back up at Korra. She studied her for a few moments, as though uncertain—as though she wasn’t entirely convinced by Korra’s argument.

“That’s not the only reason, is it?” Asami asked finally.

 Her voice was quiet.

 Korra didn’t know what to say—no, she knew, just didn’t want to.

So, she didn’t.

She turned on her heel and walked out of the library.

After a while, Asami trailed behind her.

 _Because, for once, I know_ _something you don’t._

 

* * *

 

Korra had gone to Potions that day.

She’d avoided the Satos’ gazes entirely. Part of her—no, most of her—didn’t want to know.

She had more important affairs to attend to.

Tenzin leapt to his feet.

“Korra! Why are you alone? You need to—” Tenzin seemed to abruptly remember that he was supposed to be mad at her “—travel in partners…”

Korra’s lips twitched as she shut the door to the Charms classroom behind her.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you, too.” She held up her hand when Tenzin started scowling, “Look, I’m here to apologize.”

Tenzin all but dropped his quill in shock.

Korra stared at it and then at him. “Err, you ready to listen or d’you need a minute?”

Tenzin cleared his throat, smoothened his robes. With a flick of his wand, the quill leapt back onto his desk. He sat down and ran a hand over his head.

“Yes—yes, of course I’m ready,” Tenzin replied haughtily, folding his hands together. “But just because you apologize doesn’t mean I’ll forgive your actions.”

Korra rolled her eyes. (It would take perhaps all of ten seconds to persuade him.)

“First of all, I quit the task force,” she began, meandering towards his desk.

Tenzin looked dumbfounded. Korra gestured questioningly at the chair on the other side of his desk—waited until he nodded (still dazed)—to sit down across from him.

“I should’ve listened to you,” she continued, without any of the vain obstinacy (aroused by the consequences of conceding first) that had prevented her from apologizing earlier. Hardly any of that mattered any more. “It _was_ just a ruse for power—on Tarrlok’s part—and it only divided the student body even more. It was…inhumane, and immoral, what they did—do, I guess, since they’re still a thing—to the muggle-borns.

“I should’ve quit earlier. No, actually,” Korra corrected herself, “I should’ve never joined at all. And, god forbid, if I had decided to, I should’ve talked to you about it first. I’m sorry—I said I’d tell you everything, and then I did the one thing you begged me not to do.”

Stunned silence.

Tenzin was gaping.

Cheeks flaming, Korra averted her gaze. She rubbed her arm self-consciously and added, “The only reason I joined in the first place was because—” _of Asami_ “—because the Equalist who attacked me mocked me and I…I mean you know how temperamental I am.”

Tenzin knew.

He was still staring at her, and several moments passed before he spoke again.

“You know…I didn’t think I would ever get a sincere apology from you,” Tenzin said at last. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “About anything.”

Korra laughed.

For the first time in well over a month, in Tenzin’s presence, she genuinely laughed.

“You know, me neither,” she chuckled. “But…I guess I know how much it hurts to be lied to.” _Now._ “Especially when you put yourself at risk by trusting that person.” Korra’s face darkened for a moment, her heart twinged, and then it was gone. She smiled sadly at Tenzin. “Nobody deserves to have their trust taken for granted. I’m really sorry…”

Tenzin gazed at her wordlessly. There was something like awe on his face, like he was watching some grand, unprecedented event transpire before him, something he’d solicited but never really expected to become a reality.

He looked…proud.

Finally, Tenzin shook his head. “I…I overreacted, as well,” he admitted. “Perhaps this entire conflict could’ve been avoided altogether if we had just had a reasonable conversation.”

“Not like we’re mature adults or something,” Korra grinned.

This earned a laugh from Tenzin.

Then, to Korra’s astonishment, he stood, crossed the distance between them, and pulled her into a hug. Startled, Korra took several seconds to collect herself before returning the embrace.

“You okay?” she teased.

“Yes,” Tenzin said after a beat, pulling back to look at Korra. The way he looked at her wasn’t unlike the way he looked at his own children—the way Tonraq looked at her. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Uncertain of how to handle the immense emotion in his voice, Korra averted her gaze. She rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Tenzin,” she laughed awkwardly.

“That’s _Professor_ Tenzin,” Tenzin corrected her, but he was smiling.

Korra smiled back.

“You know, I have to admit, I missed your nagging these past few weeks,” she said as she lowered herself back into her chair.

Tenzin rolled his eyes as he reassumed his seat. “I don’t nag.” A pause. “I will admit, it was much quieter here without you.”

Korra’s heart swelled.

“Glad you missed me too,” she beamed.

Tenzin cleared his throat again but didn’t deny the claim.

Then, Korra grew solemn. “While we’re on the topic of telling you everything, I, err…my Legilimency has been getting stronger. I can’t really control it—it doesn’t happen when I want it to, and almost always when I don’t want it to.”

Tenzin’s jaw dropped.

He blinked rapidly, looking at Korra as though she’d grown a second head.

“That’s…that’s remarkable,” Tenzin stammered out eventually. “I believed it was a fluke when you first showed signs of it but…I never imagined it was the beginning of a lifelong ability.” His eyes glinted mysteriously as he gazed at Korra. “Intriguing.”

Korra fidgeted.

“So, err, I wanted to ask…if it’s not too much trouble…would you…would you mind helping me train it? I could…I could use it for good, y’know. To help with the Equalists and stuff,” she added lamely.

Tenzin’s eyes hardened.

For an instant, Korra feared he would reject the proposition—as he’d rejected all of her earlier requests, like Tonraq, insistent on keeping her a child forever—

“All right,” Tenzin agreed, to Korra’s shock. “But,” he continued, “we must resume your Occlumency training, as well. I don’t like the idea of Amon continuing to torment you for his own pleasure.”

Korra tensed.

It wasn’t Tenzin’s request that made her anxious—she agreed with him, in fact—it was the fact that resuming Occlumency lessons meant Tenzin would be casting Legilimency on _her_. He would see everything she’d been hiding from him (and all faculty)—breaking into the Restricted Section of the library, the Vault of Ice, all of their research—

Perhaps, with this newfound, unspoken agreement between them, he would allow that to pass. After all, he’d had a hand in adding fuel to that fire. However, there was one thing she couldn’t allow him to see—all of her toil over the last few days (the last few months, essentially) would be for naught.

But perhaps she’d be better at repelling him now—she had much more practice in controlling her emotions. As a matter of fact, she’d slept better the night after the raid on Hogsmeade than she had in ages; repression was a security blanket, and Korra clung to it for dear life.

“All right,” she agreed uneasily.

 

* * *

               

“Wow, haven’t thought about this in a while,” Bolin commented.

“Same,” Mako agreed.

“Every moment of every day,” Korra sighed.

They were gathered in the library again, pouring over the torn piece of parchment before them. They’d decided to analyze the prophecy at last.

Perhaps now wasn’t the time for research—which was precisely why it was. Korra wanted to waste no more time lamenting, dwelling on feelings of dread and anxiety that had no solution; she wanted to push herself until she broke, so that there would be nothing left of these sentiments—or at least, nothing left that they could do to her.

Korra glanced at the boy sitting to her right.

_This must be how Mako felt after the attack on the orphanage…probably worse…_

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Mako jumped, startled by the sudden contact (he’d been focusing intently); he glanced over at Korra, bewildered. When she offered no explanation—nothing but a reassuring smile—he blinked and then returned his attention to the prophecy. His cheeks were slightly pink, Korra noted.

(Even a month ago, she would’ve been ecstatic by this development.)

“What do you think this bit means? ‘One with the sky, a man of heart,’” Korra inquired, pointing at the line.

Mako shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Maybe he’s Elsa,” Bolin joked unhelpfully, but Korra still laughed.

Then, the mood died out again.

“Ugh,” Korra groaned, rubbing her forehead.  “I’m getting sick of this.”

“There has to be at least one person in the world who knows the full prophecy besides Katara. Maybe someone here at Hogwarts?” Mako suggested hopefully.

It clicked almost immediately.

“Sokka!” the trio chorused.

“SHHHHHH! DON’T UTTER THAT CURSED IMBECILE’S NAME IN MY LIBRARY!”

They grinned sheepishly at Wan Shi Tong (with no intention of obeying).

Then, more quietly, Korra repeated, “Sokka?”

The poltergeist dropped out of the air; he did a loop-the-loop before stopping just in front of their table. Hovering above the prophecy, Sokka beamed down at them.

“Hello, Korra! My, how you’ve grown!”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

Korra blinked rapidly.

“Err, you know me?”

“Of course!” Sokka retorted merrily. He crossed his hands over his heart in mock offense. “I gave my life protecting you!”

The trio stared at him—and then at each other.

“Protecting me from what?” Korra asked slowly.

(She was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that Sokka had no lower body.)

Sokka, realizing he’d revealed something he probably shouldn’t have, dropped his hands immediately. He squinted at Korra.

“Err, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Sokka’s tail swished anxiously.

“In that case, nothing at all! Don’t worry your little head!” he replied with forced cheeriness.

Korra’s shoulders slumped.

“So, you probably won’t tell me what the rest of the prophecy says or where we can find it, will you?” she sighed in resignation.

“Nope!”

“Can you at least help us with this ‘taking away one’s magic’ nonsense, then?” Mako demanded, irritably.

Sokka perked up. “Certainly! If you’ll follow me…”

Korra and Bolin watched Mako trail after Sokka, who was chattering incessantly (to the former’s exasperation), until they disappeared around the corner.

“I’m going to look through some wandology books while we wait,” Korra announced, getting to her feet.

“I’ll hold our table,” Bolin called after her.

Korra returned with a handful of books by Ollivander around the same time Mako returned from the Restricted Section with Sokka, a bundle of scrolls and manuscripts under his arm.

“Happy illegal scavenging!” Sokka grinned, saluting them before vanishing with a _poof._

“Y’know, I wonder what he does in his free time,” Bolin remarked, still gazing dreamily at the spot his hero had been.

Mako rolled his eyes and shoved an oversized scroll into his brother’s arms. “Stop wondering and start reading.”

Bolin scowled at Mako but complied anyway. The trio was enveloped in silence as they all concentrated on their respective texts.

Korra had no real reason to read about wands, none which aided their research—which her friends were currently performing loyally, for _her_ sake—while she satisfied her curiosity about alder wands. (She’d also learned that holly wands usually selected wizards that were impulsive and prone to losing their temper, recalled Asami’s amusement, and felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.)

 _Just drop it_ , she wanted to tell herself. _Let Asami go._

Korra didn’t know why she insisted on hanging on, on reliving her trauma—why she kept picking at her wounds so that they’d never heal, perhaps she was addicted to the pain—addicted to its toxic allure like an alcoholic to his poison—

Then, her eyes landed on a passage that knocked the air out of her lungs.

_In the event that a wand meets its brother—that is, the wand that shares the same core (for example, a unicorn hair from the same unicorn in each wand)—neither wand will be able to perform properly. Their encounter will force one of the wands to regurgitate the spells it has performed most recently—a phenomenon known as ‘Priori Incantem,’ also known as the reverse spell effect._

_Not many wands share the same core—I try to ensure that I produce only a few with the same components. However, any wand that has a brother wand inevitably forges a connection between its owner and its brother’s; whether by mind, spirit, or magic, an irrevocable bond exists between the two, one that can only be broken by the destruction of one of the wands, or the death of one of the owners._

“I found something,” Korra gasped, all but shoving the book at the brothers. “Read this—this explains that whole ‘connection’ business, doesn’t it? That’s why Amon can get to me even though we’ve never met.”

Mako finished reading quicker than Bolin and immediately nodded.

“You’re right! I just read that Aang and the Dark Lord had a connection too because their wands shared a phoenix feather from the same phoenix. That must be what this bit means—” he said eagerly, jabbing a finger at the prophecy “—‘He’ll vanquish the Dark Lord, he who is bound to him by the same core.’ It makes perfect sense! And when Aang destroyed his wand and took away his magic, he broke the connection!”

“Brilliant!” Korra cried. “That old coot in Diagon Alley probably got the heartstring for my wand and for Amon’s wand from the same dragon!”

“Wait,” Bolin interrupted, holding a hand up. He’d been sitting quietly, slightly bemused, glancing back and forth between the other two. “That’s great and all—and you lot are probably right—but that doesn’t explain how he has access to Mako’s mind.”

Korra was once again stunned by Bolin’s newfound clarity.

Both she and Mako deflated.

They exchanged a glance.

“I think once he has access to my mind, he can use me to access the people close to me?” Korra guessed.

Mako had gone very pale.

“T-that…that sounds about right, from what I know about Legilimency,” he stuttered out eventually. He glanced at Korra. “Can’t you like me less?”

“With each passing day, I find that I do.”

This at least brought some of the color back to Mako’s face. The trio laughed, and settled into a somewhat easier quiet.

“Did you find anything about taking away magic?” Bolin piped up after a beat.

He had asked in an even voice, maintained a straight face, but there was more to it than that. It was very subtle, something only Korra could notice—no, she felt it herself, the moment she made eye contact with Bolin; a chill passed over her, a piercing sense of dread that gripped at her very core.

Mako blinked, seemingly only just remembering that they had a task at hand.

“Oh, err, yeah, a bit,” he replied, shifting through the scrolls before him. He selected one and began paraphrasing it. “So, as far as historians know, Aang was the first wizard to unlock the ability to take away someone’s magic. He never explained how he did it—or at least, never wrote it down—so…I’m not entirely sure how Amon got it.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Like every other discovery, every question answered only gave rise to two more in its place; like every other discovery, the risk and uncertainty associated with the entire affair multiplied tenfold.

Bolin broke the silence first.

“D-d’you think he can really take away magic for good?” he asked in a trembling voice. “Like…from everyone?”

Korra knew the fear was much more personal for Bolin than it could ever be for any of them. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

Mako chewed on his lip contemplatively. “Dunno. My guess is probably…not? Not soon, at least. Aang says every time he did it, it felt like his soul was splitting into two. There’s no way Amon is more powerful than Aang, and if it’s that hard for Aang to do it, Amon probably can’t do it en masse.”

“He’s pretty powerful though–he can cast the Imperius Curse on hundreds of people at a time,” Bolin pointed out. “That takes some serious magic.”

“He’s right,” Korra agreed grimly. “Maybe it’s from all the magic he’s stolen?”

Mako shook his head. “That’s not how this works—or, at least, in Aang’s case. The magic he takes passes through him and then is released into the world. The ability isn’t supposed to be about taking and reassigning power from others.”

“So, Amon’s just insanely powerful,” Bolin concluded, bitterly.

For some reason, that skill seemed vaguely familiar to Korra—the uncanny ability to control hundreds at a time, a feat no wizard had done before, none except—

“He _is_ limited to one person at a time though,” Mako countered. “We saw it ourselves.”

(Korra couldn’t remember.)

“So, for now, we’re safe?” Bolin chanced.

“I suppose,” Mako relented begrudgingly. He obviously didn’t believe it. “In a manner of speaking. But it’s a really fragile promise of security…”

 _So is everything, nowadays_.

 

* * *

 

_“Asami, can I talk to you for a moment?”_

_Asami hesitated._

_It had been roughly three weeks since she’d started school at Hogwarts; she’d never once been asked to stay behind after class. Moreover, there was something about the Herbology professor that rubbed her the wrong way—something in his gaze, in his smile, knowing—too knowing—and that made him all the more unsettling._

_Still, she had a pretense to maintain._

_Plastering a smile on her face, Asami turned to face Tarrlok. “Of course, sir.”_

_“Excellent.” The gleam in his eyes did little to console Asami. “Now, I want to reassure you, what we discuss will stay between us.”_ Thanks? _“Do I make myself clear?”_

Oh.

_"Yes, sir.”_

_Tarrlok rubbed his knuckles deliberately. He had jeweled rings on three of his fingers, Asami noted._

_“I need your assistance with something,” he began, lowering his hands._

_Asami waited for him to go on, but Tarrlok gazed at her expectantly. “What is that, sir?”_

I’m not going to agree to it until I know what you’re plotting.

_Tarrlok recoiled slightly—almost as though he’d heard that._

_“Bright, aren’t you?” he said after a moment. He was looking at Asami with newfound respect—and slight exasperation. “Well, then you’ve probably figured what I’m ‘plotting’ isn’t benevolent, to say the least.”_

_Asami gaped. “You—you’re a Legilimens, aren’t you?”_

_Tarrlok smirked. “All the right answers today, Sato.” Asami didn’t miss the change in his tone—in the way he addressed her. “Hopefully you can keep this up.”_

_He crossed his arms behind his back and began pacing around the greenhouse. Asami watched him warily, one hand on her wand._

_“I’ve been trying to arrange a sort of task force to enforce security around here at Hogwarts. You know with—” Tarrlok’s eyes glinted mischievously “—with all the attention from the Equalists and everything.”_ Oh, that bastard knows—he’s always known. _Asami gritted her teeth. “I believe it will be beneficial for the student body—”_

_“You mean you,” Asami cut him off coldly._

_Tarrlok’s lips twitched. “So eager,” he chuckled. “But yes, obviously. Anyhow, I require a bit of help from…the Chosen One.”_

_Asami went as stiff as a rod._

What does he want with Korra? _A pause._ Why do I care?

 _“Unfortunately, she already rejected my offer to join the task force,” Tarrlok grumbled resentfully. He had stopped abruptly, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Then, he sighed, relaxed his hands, and continued pacing. “I need her to trust me. I need her on the task force. You—” he turned on Asami, whose hand tightened around her wand “—you’re in her social circle. You’re a_ muggle-born. _You can help convince her.”_

_Asami raised an eyebrow._

_“And why should I help you?”_

_Tarrlok grinned—there was something malevolent in his eyes._

_“Because I’ll protect your secret if you do,” he murmured at last. “Think of it as a temporary truce. We both want the same thing, right? Or at least, Amon does. Maybe this will even the odds in obtaining it—the Chosen One will do the dirty work for us, and then…” Tarrlok’s eyes twinkled, “may the best man win.”_

_Asami’s jaw clenched._

_It was a thinly veiled threat, at best._

_There were so many things to consider—her mission, the public identities of her and her father, the face of the company—most of all, Amon’s wrath at this blatant betrayal were she to consider it._

_But, when she gazed at Tarrlok again, she noticed something she’d overlooked initially—there was a desperation in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to mask it._

_He wasn’t going to turn her in, Asami realized. He needed her._

_“I’m not working with a pureblood,” Asami hissed at last. “Especially not for an organization whose sole purpose is to challenge everything I stand for.”_

_To her alarm, Tarrlok was unfazed. If anything, his smirk widened, and he crouched before Asami so he could look into her eyes. What he found there amused him apparently, for he let out a disconcerting laugh._

_“Oh, that’s not the only reason is it?” he all but giggled._

_Asami flinched, looked away immediately._

_“We’re done here,” she snapped, turning to leave—_

_“Yes, we are,” Tarrlok agreed softly. Then, he drew his wand._ “Imperio!”

 

* * *

 

What am I doing here?

_Asami found herself in a clearing, her robes were very tight—no, she was wearing her Equalist uniform—where was she? To her right, the Forbidden Forest. Before her—_

No! What—

_Asami gaped at Korra, who was writhing in agony before her._

Korra…Did I?

_Then, Asami remembered, and her grip on her wand tightened._

That monster!

_The end of her wand was sparking vividly—what was she about to cast? She tried to stop it, futilely, she’d already begun casting it—_

“Expelliarmus!”

_Asami watched in horror as her wand sailed through the air._

_There was no situation in which she could explain herself—even if she blamed Tarrlok, she was still—regrettably, irrevocably—an Equalist, and in the current era, confessing to that was as good as a death wish._

_She didn’t have time to dwell on her options. The auror waved his wand again—_

“Reducto!”

_Asami gasped as her back collided with the ground. Pain shot through her spine, her vision went blurry—_

_The sun was blotted out by a looming shadow; the auror stood above her._

_But a decade of training had prepared her for this._

_Before he could cast anything else, Asami kicked out—caught the backs of his ankles with one of her legs, hooked around them, and yanked him to the ground._

_She leapt to her feet, held out her hand—bless her father for enchanting the new set of uniforms with Summoning Charms—and conjured a cloud of dust before her. Asami turned and ran into the Forbidden Forest._

_In the distance, she could hear Korra being treated._

What a relief.

 

* * *

 

 _“You—_ you! _” Asami snarled._

_She’d cornered Tarrlok in an empty corridor, had barely exercised the patience to change out of her uniform into her robes—_

_“You used the_ Imperius Curse _on me!” Asami continued, jabbing a finger accusingly in his face. Tarrlok showed no reaction, simply simpering down at her in a nauseating manner. “You tried to get me to kill my—my…”_

_Her what? Korra barely regarded her as anything more than a classmate. In fact, Korra resented her, for what she had done—for doing what she’d believed was the best course of action, only to discover that Korra had feelings for Mako and that her brilliant alternative had backfired terribly._

_Tarrlok raised an eyebrow coolly._

_“Your what? Your ‘friend’?” He threw his head back and howled with laughter. “Do you think she sees you as such? Hardly…” Tarrlok leaned down, so that he was face-to-face with Asami. “She’ll never see you the way you want her to.”_

_Asami flinched, and then gritted her teeth, furious at herself for letting him use that against her._

_“You were sent to exploit her, and here you are spewing nonsense about ‘friendship.’”_

_He wasn’t wrong, Asami realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was straying off course..._

_Tarrlok shook his head, as though chastising a child. “Don’t make me laugh—”_

_Asami grabbed Tarrlok by his collar and slammed him against the wall. For the first time since she’d known him, his eyes widened in shock—fear—he clearly hadn’t expected that from her. Then, he regained his composure, and glared down at her._

_“You’re finished,” Asami growled, leaning closer to his face. “You’ll rot in Azkaban forever after I—”_

_“After you what?” Tarrlok sneered. “After you reveal yourself as an Equalist?”_

_Asami’s face didn’t change._

_“Don’t try your mind games on me. UK Wizarding Penal Code Section 5, Clause 8: ‘When there’s no other tangible evidence to a crime, an accomplice’s testimony can be submitted as evidence under blanket immunity.’ You can try killing me beforehand, but you don’t want any blood on your hands, do you? Especially not—” she smirked in dark amusement “—filthy mudblood. Plus, I think we both know you’re outmatched.”_

_Tarrlok’s lip curled._

_Then, he sighed. Lowered his head._

_When Tarrlok raised his head again, his eyes were glinting nefariously._

_“You’re right,” he conceded at last. Then, he tilted his head. “You still resent yourself, though.”_

_Asami’s face went blank. She blinked rapidly._

_“What?”_

_“For what you did to her,” Tarrlok purred, his eyes boring into hers. Asami looked away quickly, but it was too late. “You hate that you hurt her.”_

_“I-I didn’t do that! You did!” Asami shot back, but her voice shook._

_They both knew Tarrlok was right._

_Then—_

_“As far as you know, you did,” Tarrlok murmured. He was fiddling with his wand._

_"What?”_

“Damnatio memoriae!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t remember if I explained this before, but I know many of you haven’t read Harry Potter so let me explain something that might make the stakes at hand clearer.
> 
> Dementors: ghost-like creatures that were used to defend Azkaban, the wizard prison; their presence causes people to experience their darkest thoughts, feelings, and memories—so in effect, they’re used to psychologically torture prisoners; they kind of look like grim-reapers (imo)
> 
> Dementor’s kiss: Dementors have the ability to suck someone’s soul out of their body; it’s not killing them, but it leaves them an empty shell, with no memories, feelings, sense of life, etc.; you’re sentenced to an empty existence until you die


	12. Aang's Insight

“Crucio!”

_A man (Korra didn’t recognize him, but he was Inuit—looked like he was from one of the Wizarding Tribes) howled in agony. He twisted mid-air, as though possessed by something beyond him, before falling to the ground, where he writhed until he fell limp._

_Around them, snow fell undisturbed, apathetic to this human tribulation._

_The perpetrator—a young child, perhaps no more than ten or eleven, lowered his—his hand._

Wandless magic? At _that_ age?

_Another child, younger, perhaps seven or eight, trembled behind the first._

_“Brother…you…you just…” His voice shook too much, he couldn’t finish his sentence._

_(It was definitely one of the Wizarding Tribes—the Northern? It had to have been, Korra hardly understood their dialect.)_

_The second child seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the man (now motionless)._

_“Fret not.” The older boy’s face remained impassive. He held a hand out to his (presumably) younger brother. When the child made no effort to take it, he sighed impatiently, “Hurry, before he gets up. If we do not leave now, we will never have a chance.”_

_The younger boy hesitated. He spared the wounded man one last glance before taking his brother’s hand._

_The scenery changed._

_“We can’t go on like this,” the younger brother mumbled, nursing several flesh wounds running up one of his legs._

_They were in an alley, somewhere urban now—London?_

_The older child gazed at his brother indifferently. “Why not?”_

_For a moment, Korra was irate—could he not see his brother’s wounds? Then, looking into his eyes, she realized he really_ didn’t _understand the problem._

_“He’s right, you know,” a new voice murmured, not unkindly._

_Both boys’ heads snapped towards the source in alarm._

_The stranger stepped into the light—Korra’s heart nearly stopped._

_It was Aang._

_London faded._

_Korra glanced around. She didn’t know where they—she (for the brothers were nowhere in sight) was now._

_Some sort of corridor, dimly lit; on the other side of a tinted window, two silhouettes._

_(Adults, Korra noted.)_

_“…he’s recovering fine, perhaps a tad more insecure than most children. He seems to have an inferiority complex—a little too desperate to be in control—but that’s all symptomatic of a survivor of abuse. He has some temper issues as well, but overall, I don’t predict any major developmental problems for him.”_

_Korra didn’t know who was speaking._

_She glanced at the door beside the window, which read: Fulham Child and Adolescent Mental Health Center. They were in a…hospital? Were the brothers in an inpatient facility?_

_“I’m seriously worried about his older brother, on the other hand,” the psychologist (Korra presumed) continued in a grave voice._

_“How come?”_

_Aang._

_“Well…from what I’ve gathered…he’s not adjusting well. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s a developmental problem or a hereditary one.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“He’s been exhibiting very…disturbing behavior. Animal abuse—to the point where the animal’s brain functioning is irrevocably damaged. We’ve banned service animals on his floor. He’s obsessed with fire—we’ve had to stop him from trying to set_ other children _on fire on multiple occasions. And he doesn’t even think what he’s doing is_ wrong _. If anything…he’s just getting better at not getting caught. Every session he tells me something different—none of his stories or claims align with what his younger brother has been telling me. Nothing we do gets through to him. He simply doesn’t care.”_

_Silence._

_Finally—_

_“He’ll be okay. They both will. I’ll enroll them in the school I teach at—being around peers and having structure will help them adjust.”_

_“Sir, you do realize these are predictive symptoms of—”_

_“He’ll be okay.”_

_Korra didn’t know who Aang was trying to convince._

“Fuck— _fuck_ ,” Korra hissed, kicking her blankets off. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Despite the November chill, she was drenched with perspiration. (Fortunately, her outburst hadn’t woken any of the other students.) She sighed and sat up in her sleeping bag.

Korra didn’t know who or what she saw—or if she was supposed to see that at all.

What she’d seen had been too vivid to be a dream, but it couldn’t have been a vision—not when everything had been in the past. In fact, the sensation that accompanied these abstractions was nothing like that which she experienced after a vision; rather, she felt as though she’d just performed Legilimency, as though she’d peered into someone else’s memories.

Korra couldn’t fathom whose—she’d never seen those children in her life, didn’t know enough about Aang’s life to—

Korra stopped breathing.

It seemed impossible. Aang was dead—had been dead for almost as long as she’d been alive.

But there was no one else it could possibly be.

 

* * *

 

“You look tired,” Wing commented as Korra set her things down beside him.

“Bad dreams,” she replied, resting her head on the desk.

Sleep had been unattainable following her revelation (guess).

“Amon?” Wei inquired.

“I—I don’t…think so?” Korra paused. Remembered who was in the classroom. “I don’t know. Feel like I’m chasing ghosts.”

_I don’t want to get into this…I don’t think more people should know about the visions, even if it’s the twins._

She didn’t have too much time to dwell on it—their conversation was cut short anyway.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Wei demanded, perking up immediately.

Lin had just burst into the classroom shouldering a chest nearly twice her size.

 _She could just use magic_ , Korra thought. _Or maybe she wants to show off._

“Take your seats! We’re going to jump right in today!” Lin announced once she’d set the chest down in front of the class.

It was bound by several chains and a padlock the size of a man’s fist, leaving everyone to wonder the same thing.

“What d’you think is inside?” Wei whispered.

“Maybe a dark creature?” Wing suggested.

“A body,” Korra said at the same time.

Both twins grinned at her.

“Neither,” Lin snapped, causing all three to jump. They offered her sheepish grins (Korra was baffled by Lin’s hearing; they were sitting three rows away from her). “We’ll be reviewing the Boggart-Banishing Spell.”

A murmur ran through the class. Everyone was sitting up straighter, craning their necks to get a peek at the chest, which was—Korra had thought she was imagining it at first—rattling vigorously.

_Thump, thump, thump._

“Can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?”

_Thump._

A few hands went up.

“Sato?”

Silence.

Those who’d raised their hands slowly lowered them.

There was no mistaking the severity in Lin’s voice. There was something accusatory in her gaze, in the way she narrowed her eyes at Asami—something suspicious and provocative, as though she were saying, ‘Give me an excuse, I dare you.’

The twins exchanged a glance.

There was only one person in the room that understood Lin’s behavior.

_Thump, thump._

Korra had gone rigid.

(She didn’t know why she cared.)

“I’m waiting,” Lin growled.

Asami was sitting at the front of the class, as usual, surrounded by her Ravenclaw friends. However, none of them were willing to face the wrath of a professor, and promptly averted their gazes.

 _Thump, thump, thump_.

Without raising her eyes, Asami answered, in the most monotonous voice Korra had ever heard, “A shape-shifter that assumes the form of its opponent’s worst fear.”

Korra knew better than to relax.

“What is their primary weakness?” Lin demanded, without pause.

Again, without making eye contact, Asami replied meekly, “Laughter.”

“What does the Boggart-Banishing Spell do?”

“It turns them into something silly. It doesn’t actually kill the Boggart, it ‘banishes’ them, in a manner of speaking, making them rematerialize somewhere else.”

“What is the incantation?”

“‘Riddikulus.’”

“What year did we first learn this material?”

Another murmur ran through the class.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the last question had nothing to do with the curriculum—was more or less a jab directed at Asami, who obviously hadn’t been present for any other school year.

Of course, Asami was at a loss—frowning, fiddling with her quill. Her hands were trembling.

“Well?”

A few snickers. A few more whispers.

“I’m waiting, Sato.”

Asami lowered her head.

“Our third year.”

The class fell silent. The twins’ jaws dropped. Even Eska and Desna glanced at each other in surprise.

Asami hadn’t answered.

The heiress’s head snapped up. She turned in her seat to look at Korra.

Meanwhile, Lin was glowering at Korra, who met her gaze defiantly.

 _This isn’t necessary,_ Korra wanted to say.

Lin seemed to know, for her lip curled, and she looked away uncomfortably.

“Step out of line again and I’m taking points from Gryffindor,” she muttered.

“Yes ma’am,” Korra retorted tersely. _I could say the same for you,_ she wanted to add.

Still, Korra knew Lin’s distrust wasn’t unwarranted—knew that better than anyone, and felt a little guilty for interfering.

Her gaze fell on Asami, just for a moment. Asami’s face softened. Korra looked away.

Clearing her throat, Lin pressed on, “I will demonstrate the spell first,” _thump,_ “and then I want you lot to line up in alphabetical order so I can assess your performance.” _Thump, thump, thump_. “No homework this week—think of this as a pop quiz.”

The class immediately brightened at this news; exams for fall term were less than a month away—most professors had been ruthless with homework assignments recently.

Taking a deep breath, Lin drew her wand and cried, “ _Alohomora!_ ”

The padlock fell open with a soft _click_ , leaving the chains to pile at the base of the chest. The clattering ceased momentarily.

Quiet.

The students glanced at one another.

Then—

With a great _bang,_ the chest burst open to reveal—

“Mum?” the twins breathed in unison.

But it wasn’t quite Suyin Beifong—she—or rather, the Boggart—wasn’t breathing. Nothing could’ve prepared the class for the image of their Transfiguration professor dead on the floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Lin’s face didn’t change (her hand was shaking slightly, however).

“ _Riddikulus!_ ”

_Crack._

“Is that—?” Korra began to ask.

“I think so,” Wing confirmed.

A slight elderly woman with graying hair that fell past her shoulders, sporting not robes but some sort of tunic, lay unmoving on the marble floor.

Lin inhaled deeply, steeled herself, and brandished her wand again.

 _“Riddikulus!”_ she said more firmly this time.

_CRACK._

Toph Beifong’s corpse vanished, leaving a dancing monkey in its wake.

“Wait, does that mean Grandma is still alive?” Wei whispered. “How come we haven’t met her?”

“Dunno. Heard she took off after—I think—after Chief Sokka passed away and never came back,” Wing supplied.

“Wait, how come you know that and I don’t—”

“All right, I hope you got a good look! Line up!” Lin cut Wei off. “I expect nothing less than perfect spells.”

The classroom reverberated with the sound of chairs scraping against marble. Grumbling, Wei trailed after his brother, who waved at Korra before moving to the front of the line. Korra meandered towards the middle.

The line moved rather quickly—Lin only offered each student two chances before failing them (as per N.E.W.T. regulations). They were being scored on a scale of one to ten, based on form, enunciation, execution, and overall effect.

Most of the class’s fears were predictable: heights, Amon, clowns, Amon, mice, Amon…

“Wei Beifong,” Lin called, flipping to a new page on her clipboard. As usual, she was unfazed by her nephews’ presence in her class.

Wei trudged forward. He looked more nervous than usual, Korra noticed.

The Boggart—which had most recently assumed the form of an Acromantula (the last student had failed)—shifted—Korra expected Amon, or perhaps—

Several students began giggling.

Wei’s ears turned bright pink.

_Wait, what?_

McNamara was standing in front of Wei. However, McNamara—the real McNamara—was behind Korra.

Korra stared. Lin glanced up, raised an eyebrow, and then glanced at the real McNamara, who looked just as perplexed by this turn of events.

Boggart-McNamara tilted his head at Wei before smirking.

“Do I frighten you?” he asked in a slick voice. His eyes—steel blue—were glinting mischievously.

“N-no, of course not,” Wei snapped, hands clenching into fists.

“Mr. Beifong, please focus on the assignment instead of engaging with the Boggart,” Lin advised impatiently.

Boggart-McNamara’s smirk broadened, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I think I do,” he continued cockily, stepping closer to Wei, whose entire face had gone scarlet. He didn’t stop until his face was inches away from Wei’s; he was looking at him hungrily, eyes raking over Wei in a way that made Korra want to look away. “You’re afraid of the way I make you—”

 _“R-Ridikkulus!”_ Wei sputtered, waving his wand sloppily.

_CRACK._

Boggart-McNamara dissipated, and a singular potato levitated before Wei.

“Seven,” Lin sighed. She looked thoroughly unimpressed, almost embarrassed. “Next,” she barked before Wei could protest.

Korra glanced behind her.

The real McNamara looked like he’d been struck over the head by a Bludger.

Wing feared the death of his relatives, like his aunt, and received a nine. (Wei didn’t look too happy about this.) Lin carried on with assessments; Desna, Unalaq—his father, an imprisoned war criminal—seven, Eska, small talk, eight, the next student, Amon, failed…

Eventually—

“Korra,” Lin called.

Korra stepped forward, and was entirely unsurprised to see Amon materialize before her. (She was grateful she was in the middle of the alphabet; this had given her ample time to mentally prepare herself.)

She flicked her wand, almost uninterestedly, and shouted, _“Riddikulus!”_

Amon’s mask warped away first—then the rest of him; in his absence, a pug that was convinced it could catch its own stubby tail.

“Excellent, ten,” Lin declared without looking at Korra.

While grateful for Lin’s professionalism—and consequent impartiality in grading—Korra was a little discouraged by the less-than-warm response.

_I guess I did sass her in front of the class…_

The rest of class passed without much excitement; several more Amons appeared, some trivial phobias, a few amusing transformations, nothing out of the ordinary...

Apparently, most people’s surnames began with the earlier portion of the alphabet, for soon the only student remaining was—

“Asami Sato,” Lin called, in a surprisingly even voice.

Asami, who’d been fiddling with her wand for the better part of class, stumbled forward. Korra had never seen her move with such—such lack of grace.

The jack-in-the-box (the last student had passed with an eight) gave a great tremble before it whirred madly—and then—

The class burst into whispers.

Before Asami, stood Hiroshi.

 _Shit,_ Korra thought, despite herself. No, she didn’t care—didn’t want to care—

“Isn’t that her dad?”

“Why is she scared of him?”

 _“R-Riddikulus!”_ Asami stuttered, before Hiroshi—the Boggart—could say anything.

_Crack._

Hiroshi melted away, in his place—

“Hello, my child,” Amon purred.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The entire class gaped—

None of the Amons until now had spoken.

Lin’s eyebrows were inching towards her hairline.

 _Do something, hurry up—just do something,_ Korra thought desperately.

But Asami was frozen in place, wand hand trembling violently, staring dumbly, gapingly at Amon. He didn’t speak again, but Korra could see his eyes through the bamboo mask.

He was smirking.

“Isn’t Sato a muggle-born?”

“Why would she be scared of him?”

“What an audience we have here,” Amon continued, rendering the class silent again.

He began pacing around the classroom, gaze lingering on each of the students’ faces, as if he were memorizing them. Korra knew it was a Boggart, knew the real Amon had no access to any of this, but couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine.

To her immense disbelief, Lin didn’t interfere. If anything, her eyes were darting between Asami and Amon suspiciously; Korra could see the gears churning in her head, it was only a matter of time before—

_“Riddikulus!”_

_CRACK_ —

Amon was no more.

Everyone stared.

Asami was gaping.

Korra lowered her arm slowly.

Lin looked livid.

“What did I tell you?” she snarled at Korra, who lowered her gaze. “The classroom is no place to play hero. Twenty points from Gryffindor!”

The class gasped.

Five to ten points was the customary range for House point rewards or penalties in class; never had they witnessed anything beyond that within the confines of a classroom.

Korra gritted her teeth but said nothing.

She knew she had no place.

Before Lin could say anything else, Korra grabbed her bookbag, muttered, “Sorry, ma’am,” and stormed out of the classroom.

She had no patience for the whispers that would follow, the looks her classmates would give her—had no answers for the twins’ questioning looks, the interrogation Lin would inevitably force upon her. Korra had yet to understand her actions herself.

She had made it halfway to her next class when—

“Korra—wait!”

Korra stopped.

It wasn’t Lin.

She waited until Asami caught up to her—didn’t know why.

Korra averted her gaze when Asami stopped before her. She had resumed training with Tenzin, had even seen vast improvement, but the habit of avoiding eye contact lingered—partly to respect others’ privacy, and partly to shield herself from thoughts she didn’t want to hear.

“Why?” Asami demanded breathlessly when Korra remained quiet. “Why did you help me?”

Korra kept her gaze on the floor. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I—” _I do_ “—I—” _don’t I?_ “—I did, too.”

That was probably the most accurate answer.

Asami hesitated. Shifted her weight.

Korra glimpsed at her.

She looked uncertain, puzzled—hopeful.

Korra’s jaw clenched, and she looked away again.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she snapped, hand tightening on her bookbag strap.

_At least, that’s what I keep telling myself._

More silence. The air between them was stifling. Korra wanted to vomit.

“I…I thought you would be more mad at me,” Asami said finally, raising her eyes.

“I AM!” Korra bellowed. Asami flinched, staggered backwards— “I’m so mad at you I can barely look at you—I can barely speak without—” Korra took a deep breath, tried to steady her voice, which was shaking tremendously “—I’m so mad I can’t think straight, I—”

Asami recoiled, retreated several steps.

Korra’s knuckles turned white.

“I get mad whenever I see you,” she hissed, advancing on Asami. Asami had backed into a corner, was looking anywhere but at Korra; Korra had all but pinned her against the wall. “It hurts. It hurts so much—every time I see you, I can barely breathe. I liked you, Asami—” it was the first time Korra had addressed her by her name since the raid on Hogsmeade “—I actually really liked you. I thought you were my friend—one of my _best_ friends. My friends—my _family_ —they like you so much, and they don’t even fucking know who— _what_ you are. I can’t tell what parts of you were real and what parts of you were just—” it was getting difficult to breathe “—just another tool to manipulate me.”

Korra paused. Laughed bitterly.

“I guess I shouldn’t make the assumption that any of it was real, should I?”

This would be much more intimidating, much more threatening—

If Korra wasn’t crying.

Korra glared at Asami wordlessly, tears running down her face. Asami wouldn’t meet her eyes—wouldn’t speak.

“Please just…just leave Mako out of this,” Korra croaked, stepping back at last. “Whatever this is.”

She hated that her voice cracked, hated that Asami had seen this side of her—kept seeing this side of her—

Korra walked away.

Asami didn’t stop her this time.

 

* * *

 

_“Accio apple!”_

Nothing happened.

“I didn’t think it was possible but…I think you’re getting _worse_ at this,” Tenzin commented, raising an eyebrow.

Korra exhaled impatiently.

 _“Accio apple!”_ she cried more forcefully.

The apple quivered but refused to budge.

“Concentrate—”

“I can’t, okay?” Korra snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I can’t fucking focus on anything.”

“Language,” Tenzin chided.

“Sorry,” Korra retorted irritably. “Can’t we stop here for today?”

Tenzin frowned. Seeing the look on her face, he relented with a sigh.

“I suppose. But you’re going to have to master this spell by the end of the year—it’s part of the O.W.L.s,” he reminded her.

“Ugh,” Korra groaned, collapsing on a nearby chair in a perfect demonstration of teenage angst. “Don’t remind me I have to retake those.”

“Just Charms,” Tenzin rejoindered unhelpfully.

“Right,” Korra muttered, rubbing her forehead.

Tenzin waved his wand, and the apple disappeared. He crossed the room and sat down in a chair across from Korra; he looked severely out of place considering his broad stature, much too tall for the student desk, from under which, his legs were sticking out rather comically.

“Are you all right? You seem distracted,” Tenzin began cautiously.

He wasn’t wrong.

Korra’s capacity to ignore the psychological consequences of Asami’s betrayal was deteriorating rapidly—and in its place, muddled sentiments (mostly negative) simmered maliciously, threatening to overflow and ruin Korra entirely. As more time passed—the more she encountered Asami—Korra found her barriers (denial) slipping, making sleep entirely unfeasible.  

Korra hesitated.

She’d been performing rather well in their Occlumency lessons—even better in Legilimency—as of late, but she couldn’t tell whether Tenzin knew or not. She didn’t know what he had seen—she’d been able to repel him from visiting specific memories, which she would see as well, were he to access them, but had no idea what passing thoughts he’d read.

That, the target never knew.

But Tenzin showed no signs of reproach or—or anything that indicated that he knew. (Or, he was just a very convincing actor.)

If anything, he was gazing at Korra with a sort of fatherly concern that made her feel guilty for not telling him all over again.

“I saw something a few days ago,” Korra confessed instead.

Tenzin’s forehead creased. “A vision?”

Korra shook her head. “No, it couldn’t have been—Aang was in it.”

The change in demeanor was immediate.

Tenzin sat up straighter, eyes wide as saucers. “My father?” he squeaked.

Korra nodded.

“It looked like…a memory, almost. A few, actually.”

Tenzin was staring at Korra with rapt attention. “What did you see?”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t want to remember.

(She answered anyway.)

“It’s kind of foggy now, but—I saw a pair of brothers from the Northern Wizarding Tribe. I think. They were running away from…someone. An old man? I think he was holding them hostage. Anyway, Aang took them to a psychiatric facility…that’s about all I saw.”

The blood drained from Tenzin’s face.

His reaction didn’t escape Korra.

“Did you know them?”

“I’m…not sure,” Tenzin admitted. “There were a lot of troubled students my father took in and mentored. If it’s who I’m thinking of, though, I’m not sure what this means. I haven’t—actually, no one has heard anything about him in ages.”

“Who?” Korra asked (practically pushed).

Tenzin gazed at her uncertainly, as if deciding whether or not to share this information with her.

Something crossed his face—some unfathomable emotion—before he finally gave in and replied, “Noatak.”

Korra’s ears cricked. “Noatak?”

Tenzin nodded slowly; his gaze was distant now, and Korra fought to keep herself from reading his mind.

“He was…an odd one. Very troubled in his youth. However, after my father took him under his wing, he became a model student. Brilliant wizard, Head Boy, Quidditch Team Captain—excelled at everything he tried his hand at. He was one of my first students,” Tenzin added, to Korra’s surprise.

Korra didn’t know when Tenzin had started teaching—perhaps somewhere in his twenties? That put this memory about thirty years ago. Her mind was racing—

“Don’t get any ideas,” Tenzin cautioned sternly when he caught sight of Korra’s expression. “You won’t find anything on him. He had no papers, no birth certificate—it was like he didn’t exist before my father found him. Outside of his student records here, which are spotless, there’s nothing on him. He vanished after he graduated, and nobody has heard from him since.”

Korra deflated.

“Okay,” she conceded at last. “I won’t do anything stupid. But—what if Aang was trying to tell me something?”

Tenzin rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “It isn’t _completely_ out of the ordinary for deceased wizards to try and contact the living. Nevertheless, it is rare—”

“Like my Legilimency?” Korra interrupted sardonically. Tenzin scowled. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Y’know what I’m getting at. Go on.”

“It is rather rare that they successfully do. Still, I’m not sure what my father would want to tell you about Noatak,” Tenzin continued—then, to Korra’s sheer disbelief— “other than the fact that he’s Tarrlok’s elder brother.”

Korra’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

“He’s _what_?”

Tenzin nodded, eyeing Korra warily. “Like I said, don’t get any ideas. But yes, one of the brothers you saw—that was most likely Tarrlok.”

For a moment, Korra almost pitied him. Then, she remembered what he’d done, and clenched her fists.

“D’you think _he_ sent me the memories?” Korra inquired. “Y’know, considering everything that’s happened recently.”

(Herbology had been absolutely dreadful since; Korra had skipped several lessons.)

Tenzin scoffed. “I doubt it. That man is very private, very ambitious. And while he is a gifted Legilimens, he’s no Amon. I don’t think he can contact you in that manner. Your first guess is probably more accurate.”

Korra was both reassured and troubled by this. Reassured, for she wanted nothing more than to be done with Tarrlok—for Tarrlok to be done (but that would require revealing more than she was willing to); troubled, for she didn’t know what implications Aang contacting her had at large. The game of chess grew more complicated with each passing day, and Korra desperately sought to be dropped from the match altogether.

“Did…did Aang tell you anything about this, before he passed?” Korra pressed curiously.

‘Is this more Chosen One nonsense?’ was what she really wanted to ask. (But she knew too well that Tenzin wouldn’t answer that.)

Tenzin shook his head. “Nothing. We stopped discussing Noatak a few years after his disappearance. My father wasn’t as invested in Tarrlok, and you know how he turned out. I know as much as you do.”

Korra’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you lying?”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Tenzin insisted, alarmed.

Korra didn’t have to read his mind to know he was being honest. She sighed, relented. “Okay. I’m sorry for pushing.”

“It’s all right. I don’t want you to think too hard about this, though,” Tenzin added urgently, frowning. “As of now, it means very little, and we have nothing to go off of. Don’t worry about it unless it happens again. And tell me if it does. Promise?”

Korra nodded. “Promise.”

She had enough to worry about.

Mako was waiting for her when she exited the Charms classroom. As per new security protocol, he always walked back with her since his last class was just a few doors down.

However, he looked unusually dismal today.

“Hey,” Mako greeted listlessly as Korra approached him.

“Hey. Something wrong?” she inquired as they began lumbering in the direction of the Common Room.

Mako hesitated, rubbing his shoulder self-consciously. Then, he sighed in resignation, as though he knew Korra would find out eventually.

“Asami broke up with me,” he muttered almost inaudibly.

Korra stopped walking.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. She said she’s…err…well, I won’t repeat what she said, but she said it isn’t going to work out.” Mako shook his head, grumbling, “I don’t know why she agreed to go out with me in the first place…”

Korra felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her, she was so shocked.

 _Did she…did she do it because of what I said?_ Korra paused. _I mean, she did the right thing—it was bound to happen, anyway. I just didn’t think she would do it so soon…_

Then, she remembered she wasn’t the victim here.

She glanced sideways at Mako, who was biting his lip grimly.

Although Mako was never one to exhibit emotion—let alone vulnerability—freely, he seemed…less affected by this than Korra would’ve expected. He looked more like he was dealing with an unexpected change, an unpleasant impediment to a routine he’d grown familiar with, rather than someone coping with a heart-wrenching loss.

 _He’ll be okay,_ Korra thought.

Still, that didn’t stop her from reaching out to clap his shoulder.

“C’mon. I know what’ll cheer you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love y’all but I’m not answering any more questions lmao—too many spoilers. If you have anything that genuinely confused you, let me know, and I will try my best to be of assistance. But I’m ignoring any plot-related inquiries from now on.


	13. Bolin's Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I was sleep-deprived out of my mind when I was proofreading this so please let me know if you guys notice anything glaringly obvious.
> 
>  

 

“Korra, we can’t go anywhere outside of the castle,” Mako reminded her uneasily as they approached Bumi’s hut.

(He still trailed after her.)

“Yeah, but this is an emergency,” Korra insisted. “We have a game coming up soon—” the match against Ravenclaw would be upon them in a week “—and our Captain is heartbroken.”

“I’m not—”

“Ahoy, landlubbers!” Bumi boomed when he caught sight of the pair.

He was in the midst of replanting his cabbages.

“Hey, Bumi,” they greeted in unison.

“All right, you two?”

“No, he needs therapy,” Korra replied, jabbing her thumb at Mako.

“I don’t—”

“I have just the thing!” Bumi grinned. He removed one of his gardening gloves, placed two fingers in his mouth, and let out a shrill whistle.

On cue, Naga bounded out of the hut, tail wagging ferociously. Mako’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“Hey, girl,” Korra cooed, patting Naga’s snout as the polar bear dog nuzzled her cheek affectionately. “Feel like going for a ride?”

Naga barked in response. There was no mistaking the excitement in her eyes—and the severe lack thereof in Mako’s.

“Korra, no—”

“Oh, c’mon, she likes you,” Korra chuckled as Naga licked Mako’s entire face.

Mako scowled at the both of them; the severity of his glower was mollified by the saliva dripping off his chin.

“I don’t know about this,” he muttered, attempting to dry his face with his sleeve.

“It’ll take your mind right off the bad stuff,” Korra continued, as though Mako hadn’t spoken. “It’s not scary at all.”

Mako glanced at Naga uncertainly, and then back at Korra.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Just like riding a broomstick.”

Soon, both Korra and Bumi were howling with laughter—Naga had taken off sprinting the moment Mako had managed to clamber onto her back.

“KORRA!” he protested, his cries of distress growing less and less audible as they traveled farther away.

“D’you think I’m being too harsh on him?” Korra asked Bumi, still chortling. “Trying to get his mind off something.”

“Nah, he’ll live. Bolin is inside if you want to say hi,” he added.

“Sure. Thanks, Bumi.”

 _Actually, I came here to see_ him _,_ Korra thought to herself. _Sorry, Mako._

“How’s my favorite Hufflepuff doing?” Korra inquired, popping her head in through the back window.

Bolin jumped. He’d been tending to a wounded Puffskein; it was a sort of cuddly, spherical magical beast that resembled a porcupine, with fur in the place of quills, fitting in the palm of one of his hands.

“Good! Much better. Thanks for asking,” Bolin beamed (once he’d regained his composure). Korra smiled back, thoroughly relieved by this news. “Did you come down by yourself?”

“No, I came with Mako,” Korra answered, letting herself into the hut.

Bumi’s hut, though unassuming on the outside, was at least twice as large inside. It was something like a studio apartment, with a cozy living room, kitchenette, and bedroom (comprised of a singular mattress shoved into the corner) packed in barring any distinctions. Near the kitchenette lay a wooden shelf—enchanted, of course—stocked with medical supplies beside a stainless-steel examination table (where Bolin was treating the Puffskein). A fire danced on the hearth merrily, a pleasant contrast to the (frigid) evening wind.

“Oh. Where is he?”

Profound yelling could be overheard in the background.

Bolin started laughing.

“He needed cheering up,” Korra explained.

Bolin raised an eyebrow. “Did they—?”

“Yep.”

“Who—?”

“Asami.”

“Ah. Poor bloke. You owe me five Sickles. Anyway, we can head up to dinner together after I finish with little Bum-Ju here?” Bolin suggested, motioning to the Puffskein, which seemed entirely content to just…exist.

“Sure,” Korra agreed, taking a seat at the dining table (essentially, a stool and a squat table).

 _He really does have a gift with animals,_ Korra mused as she observed Bolin.

His usual clumsiness had been replaced by unforeseen elegance; every move was sure, precise, calculated. Korra wouldn’t have thought someone of his stature would be able to exercise such gentleness, but Bolin’s fingers were like feathers as he closed the Puffskein’s wound (a gash running down its side) and applied some ointment—or potion, Korra wasn’t sure.

“Err…if it’s all right, can I talk to you about something while we wait?” Korra began carefully.

“Yeah, of course—always,” Bolin chirped. “A vision?”

“No.” Korra paused. “Well, I did see something recently but—don’t want to think about it right now. I’ll tell you later.”

“No worries. Then?” Bolin pressed, glancing at her.

“Err…girl trouble?” Korra chanced.

Bolin’s face lit up. “Ooo, juicy! I’m all ears,” he grinned.

Korra hesitated.

If she went into specifics, it wouldn’t take Bolin long to narrow it down; she had a total of three close female friends (four counting Ikki, but the situation didn’t befit an eleven-year-old), and Bolin knew Opal and Jinora too well to not figure out that Korra wasn’t talking about them.

“It’s, err, it’s a guy friend, though,” Korra lied unconvincingly. “Like, I am having trouble with a guy friend. I am the girl. In trouble.”

_Smooth._

Fortunately, Bolin was too focused on the Puffskein to notice.

“Uh huh,” he murmured absentmindedly. “Go on, then.”

“Err…so…I was really good friends with him,” Korra started, incredibly unstably, “for a few months. Um, he’s a new friend, someone I met in classes. But we got close really fast, and I felt like I connected better with him than I did with—with almost anyone. Probably anyone.”

Bolin’s head snapped up. “Even me?”

“Except you,” Korra chuckled, grateful that he was more attentive to this detail than all the glaring holes in her cover.

“Good.” Pleased, Bolin returned his attention to the Puffskein. “Sorry, carry on.”

“Anyway, he…he lied to me about something really serious. Err, I don’t exactly want to discuss it, but it…really, really, really hurt me.” Korra couldn’t stress the point enough. Actually, she really couldn’t—Bolin would catch on. Clearing her throat, she pressed on, “He seems sorry, and he’s actually…he’s actually listened to some of the suggestions I made—well, things I demanded from him when I was cross,” Korra admitted sheepishly. “So…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’m just falling for his bullshit all over again.”

This gave Bolin pause.

He gazed up at the ceiling thoughtfully, and then back down at the Puffskein (which was vibrating happily, evidently feeling much better now). Pursing his lips, Bolin asked, “Do you think he wanted to hurt you?”

Korra lowered her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. Yes and no?” She fidgeted. “It’s not like he didn’t know what he did would hurt me. But…I don’t think he _wanted_ to, if that makes sense.”

Bolin’s lips twitched. “Not really, but I speak Korra, so I know what you mean.”

Korra grinned, rubbed the back of her neck. Then, she grew solemn again.

“I think he tried really hard to…minimize the damage? He did a lot of things he wasn’t supp—err, a lot of things that…kind of saved my arse, if I’m being honest,” Korra continued, gazing at her hands, which were folded in her lap. “He’s had a lot of opportunities to hurt me, if he really wanted to, but he hasn’t.”

Bolin said nothing.

He was frowning. Clearly, he didn’t derive much pleasure from the thought of some stranger tormenting Korra (which was essentially the picture she’d painted for him).

Finally—

“Do you believe what he did is something that can be forgiven?”

Again, for perhaps the umpteenth time, Korra was stunned speechless by Bolin’s newfound profundity.

“Honestly…” she sighed. “No, I don’t.”

Bolin nodded pensively.

He stroked the Puffskein with one hand, using the other to reach for bandages. Obviously, he was deep in thought, for the dressings were on the top shelf, and he was fiddling around with packets of extra cabbage seeds on one of the lower shelfs.

Korra sighed and got to her feet.

“Here, I think this is what you were looking for,” she said amusedly as she handed Bolin a roll of gauze.

He blinked, and then hung his head in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry—was trying to think of an answer.”

“Nah, I appreciate it,” Korra replied.

She did. She was touched that Bolin would invest so much effort into helping her with something when she was deliberately omitting information.

Finally, once he had finished wrapping the Puffskein’s wound, he turned to Korra.

“So…I can’t really tell you what to do—especially since I don’t know everything. I don’t even know this bloke—” _Oh, if only you knew_ “—so I don’t want to judge him too harshly. At the end of the day, this is your decision. You have to decide whether you want to forgive him—or at least, reconcile with him—or not. But…maybe you should talk to him? That’ll clear things up, at least.” Bolin paused. He tilted his head at Korra, flashed a knowing smile. “Knowing you, you’ve probably done a whole lot of shouting and not a lot of talking, eh?”

Korra blushed.

“Yeah,” she confessed, to no one’s surprise.

Bolin’s grin widened. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He dusted his hands off and then squeezed Korra’s shoulder. “Just try sitting down and having a good talk with him, yeah? You can go from there.”

The prospect of sitting down and talking to Asami had once been the highlight of Korra’s day. Now, it was quite possibly the most daunting task she’d been faced with; she’d rather duel Amon one-on-one.

“All right, I’ll try,” Korra grumbled. Then, she beamed at the brilliant boy standing before her. “Thanks, Bolin.”

But Asami wasn’t at dinner.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Korra sighed as she shut the door to the stairwell behind her.

Asami jumped.

She’d been standing dangerously close to the edge of the tower; the image was exactly as it sounded, and the implications made Korra’s stomach churn (despite her current feelings towards Asami).

Korra wondered why Asami kept coming back here—it was too predictable. Or, perhaps that’s precisely why she did—in the hopes that Korra would come find her one day.

 _Well, your wish is my command,_ Korra thought cynically.

“I-I’m not,” Asami stuttered, addressing the floor. She stole a glance at Korra. “W-what are y-you doing here?”

Korra sighed again. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You weren’t at dinner,” she elaborated, just to humor Asami.

Asami arced an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you cared.”

(Her voice wasn’t unkind.)

“I wish I didn’t,” Korra countered snappily. Then, she sighed, composed herself. “I brought sandwiches,” she added lamely, revealing the parcels she’d been hiding behind her back.

Asami’s other eyebrow joined the first one. She was wise enough not to say anything, but she always had a way of making her feelings apparent without speaking.

Korra cleared her throat awkwardly and tottered forward a few steps. Asami merely watched.

Recognizing Asami’s apprehension was her doing, Korra huffed and crossed the remaining distance between them.

“Here,” she said flatly, holding out one of the parcels.

“Are we having a picnic?” Asami inquired.

Korra was simultaneously amused and irritated—irritated that Asami had the audacity to be sassy, but more so, vexed at herself for finding humor in Asami’s cheek.

“Yeah. Sponsored by the Chosen One.” Asami’s lips twitched. Korra wiggled the sandwich in Asami’s face when the heiress continued eyeing it warily. “Oh my god, I didn’t poison it. You know I’m dreadful at Potions.”

Asami looked away—

She was trying to hide her smile.

Korra said nothing more, shoving the sandwich unceremoniously into Asami’s hands before plopping down on the floor.

Asami hesitated, glancing between the sandwich and Korra uncertainly. Her hands were trembling.

Korra refrained from making eye contact—partly for obvious reasons, and partly because she didn’t want Asami to realize how mortified she was.

_I’m so bad at this. ‘I brought sandwiches’? Seriously?_

Korra remained silent, nibbling away at the roast beef sandwich she’d snagged from the Great Hall. At last, Asami—very hesitantly—lowered herself next to Korra. When Korra showed no signs of objection, she slowly unwrapped the sandwich.

Asami looked surprised by its contents. She cast a questioning glance at Korra, who staunchly refused to look at her.

“Thanks,” Asami said softly.

Korra had picked a cucumber sandwich–Asami’s favorite.

“Don’t mention it.”

Korra’s ears were burning.

They ate in silence.

Korra was acutely aware of—of how far Asami was sitting from her. A few weeks ago, they’d been joined at the hip, quite literally; Korra had been astonished by how comfortable Asami seemed with initiating physical contact with her, with how little personal space she had in the heiress’s presence (she didn’t mind). There was always something—her hand on Korra’s, her arm around Korra’s shoulders, her feet in Korra’s lap.

Korra didn’t know if she missed it. (She did.) She didn’t want to. (It hurt.)

 _How much of that was real?_ she wondered sorely.

Asami broke the silence first, to Korra’s shock.

The heiress glanced sideways at Korra, and then looked away hastily, as though staring for too long would set Korra off again.

“I…I know I already asked but…how…h-how come you haven’t turned me in, yet?” Asami asked timidly. “T-the real reason.”

Korra exhaled deeply.

Lowering her sandwich, she retorted, in as even of a voice as she could manage, “Can you just talk in your normal accent when it’s just us?”

Asami lowered her gaze; she looked nothing short of ashamed.

“All right.”

Like everything else about Asami, her real accent—her real voice—was breathtakingly beautiful; like everything else about Asami, it was another punch to the stomach. It hit Korra like a train, and she didn’t know whether she was more hurt or enamored.

(Everything hurt.)

Korra glanced at Asami. She was still gazing at the floor, too frightened to say anything more. The moonlight shimmered on her eyelashes, dark against her porcelain skin.

(Korra didn’t know why, but she felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach again.)

“Because,” Korra began at last, “you stopped me from drinking the Felix Felicis. It was laced with Basilisk venom, wasn’t it? Hiroshi’s plan.”

Asami froze, like a deer caught in headlights, and then, very slowly, very shamefully, nodded.

“You reversed the curse when I hit my head in class,” Korra continued. “You fought with your dad, didn’t you? The night we really became friends. You guys fought about me. _Because_ of me. And you took my side. The beliefs you were talking about—that you were second-guessing—it was about the Equalists, wasn’t it?” Asami hesitated, and then nodded again, resigned to honesty at this point. “You ditched class to keep me company—and not because you wanted to keep an eye on me, but because you were genuinely worried I would get attacked out on my own. You wanted to learn the Patronus Charm in case Amon ever attacked Hogwarts with Dementors. You stalled—at Hogsmeade—because you didn’t want me to run into Amon. Even though it’s literally _your mission_ to transport me to him, you tried to protect me. You’ve…you’ve always protected me,” Korra finished quietly.

Asami was silent for several moments. Finally—

“What did you see?” she asked in a low voice.

“Everything,” Korra answered.

Asami balked. “E-everything?”

Korra paused—glanced at her.

Asami looked utterly mortified.

_Is there something else I should know…?_

“Err, not everything everything—just the…the Equalist stuff.” Saying it out loud hurt more than anything; the words left a bitter taste in Korra’s mouth. “Nothing personal.” Asami relaxed. A pause. “Well, I…I saw your mum…”

Asami nodded. “I-I saw it, too…”

Korra played with the wrapper of her sandwich (half-eaten). Her appetite had vanished completely. “So…I figured you can’t be all bad. Either that, or you’re just the worst Equalist ever.”

To Korra’s surprise, Asami laughed.

It was short-lived—they both remembered the circumstances, the inscrutable intricacies, too quickly, and the mood died out again.

“The latter,” Asami mumbled, lowering her eyes.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re telling me you’re evil?”

Asami sighed. She was fiddling with her hands, again. “Even…even in spite of all that…I…I…” Asami’s voice was trembling with guilt; she looked like she was about to throw up. For a moment, Korra feared she would. “I attacked you,” Asami whispered at last.

Korra sighed.

“No, you didn’t.”

She set down her sandwich.

Asami gazed at her in bewilderment. “What?”

“You didn’t attack me,” Korra continued, rising to her feet.

“What do you mean?” Asami asked slowly; she made no movement, but there was no mistaking the fear on her face as she gazed up at Korra. Her eyes widened when Korra drew her wand. “What are you—”

 _“Restitutio memoriae!_ ”

There was a flash of light—

For a fraction of a second, Korra was terrified she’d performed the spell incorrectly and hexed Asami blind; her eyes, normally emerald, were glowing, milky, pallid—

Then, the haze faded, and newfound clarity emerged in its place.

Asami blinked rapidly, and then glanced up at Korra’s wand, which was still resting on her forehead. Sighing in relief, Korra stowed her wand and reassumed her seat beside Asami.

“Is it coming back now?” she asked after a moment.

Asami grunted in pain, massaging her temple with two fingers.

“Yeah, a little too clearly. Fuck—” Korra jumped, still not accustomed to hearing Asami curse “—I should’ve known…ugh, I’m so stupid.” Asami’s voice was shaking with ire—and perhaps, (unwarranted) self-loathing. “Like I didn’t learn the first time to not approach him alone. UGH.” Asami buried her face in her hands. “I can’t even do anything now—any action I take against him is just going to come back to bite me in the arse.”

Korra chuckled darkly. “I know the feeling.”

Asami stiffened. Gradually, she lowered her hands and peeked at Korra.

“This is about me and my father, isn’t it?”

Korra rubbed the palm of her hand.

“Not so much you,” she confessed, despite herself. _In fact, it’s mostly…mostly because I’m trying to protect_ you. “And I want to get Tarrlok, too.”

Asami nodded gravely.

Stillness.

A beat.

Then—

Korra gathered the courage to ask the question that had been on her mind since the first day of school.

“Why is Amon trying to kill me?”

Asami glanced at Korra in shock. “He’s not.”

Korra blinked. “Oh. Then…what does he want with me?”

Asami bit her lip. She turned her attention to the sky, as if the answer was written somewhere on there.

“He’s…trying to capture you. He needs you for something. And I’m the bait.”

Korra frowned. She tried (in vain) to ignore the fact that her heart had accelerated madly.

“For what?” she inquired.

(She didn’t know if she actually wanted an answer.)

Asami shook her head. “I don’t know that much—I’m not that high ranking of an officer. My—” Asami’s voice cracked with chagrin “—my father…and others…those above me would know. It’s something only you have access to. There’s something here at Hogwarts that he wants—something powerful. I don’t know what that is, either,” Asami added, seeing the look on Korra’s face.

Korra deflated.

Then, it clicked—

“That’s what Tarrlok’s after, too, isn’t it?” she cried urgently. “They’re after the same thing—that’s why he wanted me on the task force. That’s why he…” Korra trailed off, noticing how Asami’s expression had soured at the mention of Tarrlok.

“Yeah, probably,” Asami agreed darkly. “But I’m not sure…I don’t know if Amon was telling me the truth anymore.”

Korra raised an eyebrow inquisitively.  

Asami sighed forlornly, and explained, in a scathing tone, “Obviously what Amon told us about you isn’t true.”

 _Right,_ Korra recalled unpleasantly.

She turned to Asami. “What did he…tell you exactly?”

Asami rolled her eyes. Korra had never seen her look so…exasperated.

“First of all, he said that you killed my mother. Clearly, that’s not true—I didn’t know you were the same age as me.” Asami paused. “Unless you were the most lethal six-year-old out there,” she joked, mimicking Korra’s earlier jab. This lightened the mood briefly—the ghost of a smile on their faces—then Asami continued, coldly, “He said you issued the command, but…you don’t even know what the Order is, do you?”

Korra shook her head. She hesitated, and then pressed, “Do you?”

“Not really,” Asami replied, to Korra’s dismay. “I think it had something to do with my mother’s work—she worked for some kind of organization, but that’s all I know.”

“She knew Aang, didn’t she?” Korra interjected.

Asami nodded. “I think she worked with him—or for him—I don’t know. But that’s…that’s how I learned about the Chosen One.”

The knot in Korra’s stomach tightened.

“What did you learn?”

“Not…that much,” Asami admitted. “That you were insanely powerful. I…I heard stories about the Chosen One being able to control all four elements but—but I didn’t know it was true. That’s about it.”

Korra laughed, despite herself. It was hollow, miserable. Asami glanced at her questioningly.

“I can’t believe you knew more about me than I did for most of my life,” Korra explained sullenly.

Asami looked stricken. “I’m sorry.”

 _That’s not something to apologize for_ , Korra almost said. She stopped herself.

“She didn’t tell you how I became the Chosen One, did she?” Korra probed instead.

Asami shook her head.

Korra’s face fell. She turned away.

_There’s never a clean answer to this…_

Then, Korra scowled. Felt ridiculous all over again.

She glanced at Asami suspiciously.

“Hang on. How do I know I can trust you?”

Asami grimaced. “Seriously?”

“After everything, yeah, seriously,” Korra retorted bitterly.

For once, Asami didn’t shrink away. She turned to face Korra directly, leaned forward, and whispered, “You already know how.” Asami met her gaze defiantly—provocatively, as if daring her to verify. “Do it.”

Korra looked away.

She knew she didn’t have to.

“All right,” Korra acquiesced. “I suppose you’re right.” Satisfied, Asami leaned back. A beat. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Asami winced, but didn’t protest.

They were enveloped in silence.

(Their half-eaten sandwiches lay forgotten.)

Korra’s mind was racing with all the new information. There was so much she wanted to share with Mako and Bolin, but couldn’t—so much she wanted to look into, but couldn’t. And, as always, in the place of answered questions, new queries arose in doubles. There was never a simple resolution.

Again, Asami broke the silence first.

“You’re training Occlumency with Tenzin, right?”

Korra squirmed uncomfortably. She was trying her best to apply Bolin’s advice—trying her best to ignore the very real fear that she was being manipulated, the rush of epinephrine that begged her to run as far away from Asami as possible—and give the heiress the benefit of the doubt.

_I mean, I guess she’s right—I can always just check…but I don’t want it to come to that…_

“Why do you ask?” Korra countered warily.

To her relief, the question that followed was benign.

“That makes him a Legilimens, too, right? I’m in his classes. How come Tenzin never…?” Asami let the question hang in the air; she knew she didn’t have to elaborate.

“Because he has morals,” Korra snorted. “Tarrlok is an asshole. Just because someone has Legilimency doesn’t give them a right to invade other people’s privacy—Tenzin knows that.”

“Ah.”

Quiet.

Korra decided to ask another question that’d been eating away at her.

“How come you don’t know Occlumency? You’re already capable of magic most wizards never manage in their lifetimes.”

Asami’s initial reaction puzzled Korra—there was the slightest hint of rose on her cheeks. Then, her face darkened. “You can thank Amon for that. He makes sure no Equalists learn Legilimency or Occlumency so he can control us. That way, we can’t keep secrets from him, and we can’t learn his secrets, either.”

Korra frowned. “That…doesn’t sound very _equal_.”

Asami let out a harsh laugh. “It isn’t. Nothing about the Equalists is ‘equal.’ We’re supposed to be ‘comrades’ but everyone is always trying to one-up each other. There’s so much infighting—it’s disgusting. And it’s all part of Amon’s plan. He never tells us anything, always keeps us in the dark, and then uses our reactions against us—pits us against each other.”

“That’s…actually horrible,” Korra said, grimacing.

Asami rolled her eyes again. “Tell me about it. Amon’s a pathological liar.”

Korra shivered. For some reason, she was reminded of her dream (Aang’s warning?).

Then, Asami glanced at Korra again. There was a knowing look on her face. “There’s a lot you want to ask me, isn’t there?”

Korra winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“I don’t blame you,” Asami replied, sitting up straighter. “Just…go on. Ask. It’s better than whatever we’ve been doing lately.”

Korra nodded in agreement.

However, in spite of the confidence of the gesture—she didn’t know where to start.

Every moment spent with Asami only gave rise to more questions. Asami herself was perhaps the greatest enigma of all, like a puzzle that kept rearranging itself, and Korra was the fool that could never match the pieces.

But Asami was gazing at her earnestly, smiling with a soft honesty that promised full disclosure.

Naturally, Korra commenced at a logical starting point.

“I thought you were bad at elemental magic,” she remarked dumbly.

_Brilliant. You fucking idiot._

Asami was too considerate of Korra’s inanity (or perhaps too accustomed to it).

She nodded politely. “I am. Outside of the Patronus Charm, it’s the only thing I’ve ever really struggled with.”

“But…you used the Fire Princess’s Curse,” Korra pointed out. “No one…no one has been able to recreate that spell in almost a century. Azula is the only wizard in existence who’s ever been able to cast it.”

Asami twirled a strand of hair self-consciously. (Korra found her eyes drawn—no, glued to the gesture.) “It’s just one curse—the only one I can manage that has any footing in elemental magic.”

Korra rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’re not as bad at elemental magic as you think.”

Asami laughed mirthlessly. “I doubt it, Korra. But I appreciate your faith in my abilities.”

Recognizing that there was no point in trying to convince Asami otherwise, Korra asked instead, “What does the curse do, exactly? I couldn’t walk for a week.”

Asami flinched. Her gaze suggested contrition; her expression was not unlike someone who’d been asked to testify in court—someone guilty.

After several moments, Asami answered in a barely audible voice, “It…it destroys you from the inside. It burns away at the fibers of your muscles until your limbs—or whatever the affected area is—stop working altogether.”

“O-oh.” Korra’s voice cracked. “Is that all?” she joked weakly. She was suddenly, acutely aware of her left leg.

Asami hung her head. “I’m sorry.” Her knuckles were beginning to turn white from the amount of pressure she was exerting on them. “I would’ve never—”

“I know,” Korra cut her off, before Asami could spiral into another bout of self-loathing. “Can I ask you something else?”

Asami nodded without looking at Korra.

“How are you good at nonverbal magic _and_ wandless magic?”

The inquiry seemed to come as a surprise to Asami. She looked up at Korra in bemusement, blinking rapidly. “I’m not.”

Korra frowned. “But you Summoned your wand without—”

“Oh,” Asami chuckled, comprehension dawning on her face. “That wasn’t wandless magic. My father enchanted the new set of Equalist uniforms with Summoning Charms so that our identities wouldn’t be compromised even if we were disarmed.”

Korra relaxed.

“That’s a relief. I was starting to worry you were invincible,” she commented, a trace of humor in her voice.

Asami cracked a wry smile. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “I still don’t know what I’m doing or where it came from.”

Asami shrugged. “That doesn’t make you any less powerful.”

“I suppose you’re right…” Korra sighed. She didn’t want to talk about this.

She changed the subject.

“What made you change your mind, by the way?” It was something Korra had been wondering for the past two weeks. “Even if the Equalists suck, it’s not like it’s news to you. You’ve been with them for, what?”

“Ten years,” Asami admitted, and then inhaled deeply, as though mentally preparing herself. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t just one thing. There was a lot. Of course, what I told you was part of it. But…it really doesn’t just stop there. Everything about the Equalists is one big contradiction. It’s so…hypocritical—taking away magic, reassigning power. It’s supposed to be about equality—it’s not. It’s about revenge. And…my whole life I thought that was right. I really thought ‘an eye for an eye’ was the principle the world operated on. It was the easiest thing to believe. I was sad, I was angry, I was alone. Having someone to focus all that negativity on made me feel better—or, at least, convince myself that I felt better. And then…” Asami faltered for a moment. Then, to Korra’s disbelief, she looked at Korra meaningfully. “I met you.”

Korra stared.

“ _Me?_ ”

_I am way too dumb to be someone’s revelation._

Apparently, Asami disagreed.

She nodded timidly. “You showed me that it didn’t have to be like that. And…it was odd. That was all I’d been taught growing up. I didn’t—err…I didn’t go to Ilvermorny, as you know.” Korra nodded, morosely. “I was homeschooled—trained—whatever. Outside of a few public events every once in a while, I never left the manor.”

Korra knew the feeling too well—trapped in a compound for the better part of her childhood; both were victims of a misguided attempt at protection.

“My father’s ideology—Amon’s—the Equalists’—that was all I had, after my mother passed away. But you showed me that even if someone hurts you, that doesn’t mean you have to be like them. You can be better. And honestly…that’s more freeing than hating someone could ever be. Even now,” Asami added, solemnly, looking at Korra with an intensity that left her dazed, “even after everything…you still haven’t tried to hurt me.”

Korra rubbed her hands together remorsefully. “I wanted to,” she confessed. “When I found out.”

Asami nodded sadly.

“That’s fair. But you didn’t,” she pointed out. “And that’s what matters. You’re nothing like what I expected. I thought you’d be heartless, selfish, xenophobic—older, too. But you’re…you’re one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. You don’t see labels—you see people. And you always put others first, even at your own expense. You’re the best person I know.”

For whatever reason, the remark sent a rush of blood to Korra’s face. She coughed and averted her gaze hastily, hoping Asami hadn’t noticed.

“I think my mother would’ve liked you,” Asami said quietly. “When I met you, you reminded me of her. The way she treated me, the way she treated others—the way she saw the world. I think…I think she would be really disappointed by who my father has become. Who I…who I almost was. I think she would’ve wanted me to side with you.”

Korra stayed quiet.

There was a great weight to what Asami had said; it was something personal and intimate, something Korra had no place to comment on or make judgements of. And, though she had never met Yasuko, had only seen her briefly in a memory that wasn’t even hers, she couldn’t help but feel flattered by the idea of Yasuko’s approval.

“And beyond that, I…I really thought the whole world hated muggle-borns. That everyone had it out for us, and we were doomed to be the underclass forever. We can’t fit in with muggles, knowing who we are, but we have no place amongst wizards either,” Asami mumbled. Then, her face brightened, ever so slightly. “But then I came here. And there are definitely some bastards who need to learn a thing or two, but…most people don’t think like that. Not really.

“I was skeptical about…M-Mako,” Asami began carefully, glancing at Korra to gauge her reaction. When Korra did nothing but nod, indicating for her to continue, Asami pressed on, “But he wasn’t anything like what I thought a pureblood would be. Neither was Bolin. They were both so good to me…Bolin treated me like I was actually his sister. I-I don’t know if he hates me now, because I broke up with—”

“He doesn’t,” Korra interrupted. Asami raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Err, I’ll be honest, we started placing bets on when you two would break up. Lately, it was almost like you weren’t even dating.”

Korra was somewhat apprehensive about revealing this, but to her relief, Asami laughed.

“That’s a relief,” Asami sighed. “Bolin means a lot to me. He really is like a little brother to me. And—” Asami glanced at Korra cautiously again “—Mako means a lot to me, too.”

There was a flash of anger—a blind desire for retribution for Mako’s sake—but Korra suppressed it. If anything, the mildness of Mako’s reaction earlier suggested it was far from necessary.

“Even if I have other ‘friends’ here, those two were the ones that really made me feel at home,” Asami murmured fondly. “They’re part of the reason I changed my mind, too. I forgot I was a muggle-born with them. They treated me like anyone else, and never, ever took shit from anyone when it came to me. They always took my side. And…Mako told me about their parents. I…I never imagined they went the same way my mother did.”

There was something in that connection—some flicker at the back of Korra’s mind, but she had no insight as to what it could mean.

“I’m…I’m really sorry I had to hurt him the way I did…” Asami trailed off.

“You did the right thing,” Korra said immediately. “It would break his heart if he…found out.”

Asami lowered her eyes. Her expression suggested something beyond guilt—genuine sorrow, so poignant that Korra couldn’t bring herself to doubt its veracity. “I just hope we can stay friends.”

“You will,” Korra said before she could stop herself. “He likes you a lot. Not just as a partner. They both do. Especially Bolin.”

Relief washed over Asami’s face. She nodded mutely, seemingly unable to express the significance of this to her in words.

After a beat—

“Everything I learned was wrong. Everything. You know how I told you Amon keeps us in the dark?” Korra nodded. “He never shares others’ missions with anyone who isn’t involved. I didn’t know…I didn’t know he would resort to what he…what he did. When the movement first started out, it was small things. Riots. Gatherings. Rallies. Maybe some vandalism. But…I never imagined he would—” Asami’s voice trembled “—target _children._ ”

Her eyes were screwed shut in anguish. Korra knew the sentiment all too well—the futile yet immutable feeling of accountability, as though one could’ve prevented something that had never been in their control in the first place.

“That was Mako and Bolin’s home. And he didn’t even _care_.” Asami’s hands were shaking. “I always found out about these things too late. By the time I did, they’d already done it.

“The raid on Hogsmeade—I wasn’t supposed to know about that. I wasn’t stationed there, it had nothing to do with my mission.” Korra recalled the other Equalist’s reaction to Asami’s arrival and didn’t doubt that. “But I found out—I heard Amon talking to my father. He was going to—” Asami stopped abruptly, glancing at Korra in alarm.

She didn’t have to finish her sentence.

“He was going to capture me, wasn’t he? And take away my magic,” Korra finished bitterly.

Asami looked tormented. After a moment, she nodded dismally.

“I…I couldn’t let that happen.” Asami’s jaw clenched. She suddenly looked several years older, fatigued beyond belief. “Everything he did just convinced me I was on the wrong side.

“And…seeing you…hurt…in front of me…in September….” Asami’s voice seemed to be stuck somewhere between her throat and her teeth—probably both; the sentiment, whatever it was, was too much for her to voice, and she was evidently struggling to do so. “I think that was the moment I realized I really couldn’t do this. Even if I’m good at fighting, even if it’s my mission—I…I can’t.” Asami looked sideways at Korra, and there was something so unfathomably intense in her gaze that Korra had to look away. “How could I…how could I hurt _you_?”

There was so much more to that question than it seemed, something heavy and intense, something beyond Korra. The statement was saturated—positively dripping with sentiment; there was an intimacy to it that eluded Korra, but it left her feeling coy all the same.

Asami exhaled deeply. “It was just really hard to let go, though, y’know? It’s all I’ve ever had. My…my father is all I’ve ever had. And he really believed this. For a while, he was just… _angry_ —” Asami choked, like she was about to cry “—and drunk, all the time. He had no purpose in life. When Amon recruited him, it was like my father was reborn.” Asami paused. She chuckled darkly. “I guess he was. The old Hiroshi Sato died along with my mother.”

Regardless of her improved control over her Legilimency (thanks to hours upon hours of drilling on Tenzin’s part), Korra had been making a point to not look into Asami’s eyes; this time, she didn’t have to. The statement left Korra feeling cold, hollow. She felt Asami’s ire, her disappointment, and most of all, her grief, deep within her, like it was her own.

“I hadn’t seen him so passionate about anything since my mother passed,” Asami muttered through gritted teeth, “so I believed him. He got better—after he joined Amon—and I thought he was doing the right thing. So, I followed him.”

Then, Asami was doing it again, her nervous tick. “Meeting you—Bolin, Mako, the Beifongs—it made me realize I’m not alone in this world. It’s not…I’m not limited to just my father. And it’s a weird thing to think but…I’m starting to realize…as much as it hurts…maybe I’m better off without him. Err—maybe not—not _without_ him without him, just not… _with_ him. If that makes sense.”

Korra was reminded of her conversation with Bolin and couldn’t help but smile. “It doesn’t, but I know what you mean.”

Asami grinned sheepishly. Then, she lowered her eyes. An incredibly painful expression crossed Asami’s face—like she was about to give up a part of herself she wasn’t ready to relinquish yet.

With poison on her tongue, she muttered, “He’s done a lot of bad things—things I’m ashamed of—but, even beyond that…he hasn’t been a good father in ten years. He…he…” Asami seemed unable to bring herself to say it.

 _Hits you,_ Korra wanted to say for her. But she held her tongue.

Unfortunately, Asami was bright—too bright—and seemed to reach this conclusion at the same time as her.

She looked at Korra with renewed fear—inexplicable hurt.

“Y-you saw, didn’t you? You know—you’ve known! _All this time!_ ” Asami raised her voice. Korra recoiled. She could see the gears turning in Asami’s head, saw the change in her eyes—the fire blaze to life, a fire intended for her. “That’s why you suddenly started asking for permission to touch me—wasn’t it?” Her voice was strained, accusatory—dripping with venom Korra had only heard one other time—when Asami’s voice wasn’t her own.

“I-I’m sorr—” Korra began, but Asami cut her off.

 “You had _no right_ to see that!” she snarled.

Asami looked livid, disgusted—but more than anything, hurt, beyond belief. She had her arms wrapped around her torso again, protectively, but it looked more like she was trying to hold herself together.

 _She’s not really mad…she’s scared,_ Korra realized.

Her stomach churned.

“I know,” Korra tried again gently. Asami only glowered at her. “I’m really, really, really sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to. When I first…when I first discovered my Legilimency, I had no control over it.”

Korra fiddled with her fingers. Glanced at Asami.

The heiress looked unimpressed.

“I’ve…been working on it with Tenzin,” Korra divulged, despite herself, despite knowing that she shouldn’t be sharing this information with someone she couldn’t fully trust. “I’m getting better at it. It doesn’t happen on accident anymore.”

This much was true. Korra had shown rapid improvement in her Legilimency—could finally refrain from reading others’ thoughts and feelings without intending to. (She still had yet to master casting it at will, however—especially nonverbally.)

Asami said nothing. She was no longer glaring at Korra, but her expression suggested little had been alleviated.

“I’m sorry…I promise it won’t happen again,” Korra whispered.

That was all she could offer. (Unless, Asami gave her a reason to.)

Several moments passed before Asami spoke again.

Finally—

“I guess we both have things to be sorry for,” the heiress muttered.

She gazed out over the edge of the tower, beyond the horizon.

The Forbidden Forest was still. Even within the castle, all activity had ceased. (They were breaking every single security protocol—especially Korra.)

Korra followed Asami’s gaze, found nothing of interest, and decided to look at the heiress herself instead.

Asami’s brow was furrowed. She still looked upset, but she’d loosened her arms a little, and was now huddling her knees to her chest. Resting her chin on her knees, she almost looked…childlike. Innocent.

 _She’s not that different from Bolin,_ Korra realized suddenly.

They’d both lost their innocence too soon, lost any semblance of a healthy childhood; perhaps, as a result, they’d found solace in each other.

The weather was nearly glacial now—it was the third week of November, just shy of winter’s eve. Although Korra was fine wearing just her robes, Asami was bundled in a Ravenclaw scarf. (Korra found herself thinking Asami would look prettier in red and gold; in her absentmindedness, she almost even lamented the turn of events.)

After what felt like an eternity, Asami glanced at Korra.

“Are we…okay?” she chanced quietly.

Korra wanted to say yes.

She wanted to shove reality into a box and lock it away somewhere dark where no one would ever find it; wanted to lay her head in Asami’s lap and blow dandelions into Mako’s face, laugh with Bolin, bask in the sun in front of the lake, like they had for weeks and weeks before she knew.

But Korra knew—and now she couldn’t.

“No,” she answered honestly. “And I don’t know if we will be.” She paused—glanced at Asami, who looked crestfallen. “But…I don’t hate you.”

Asami nodded, like someone who had no choice but to accept what little they were offered.

She said nothing when Korra rose to her feet.

She didn’t speak again until Korra had reached the door to the stairwell.

“Wait,” Asami called after her.

Korra stopped. Turned her head slightly to show that she was listening.

“I…I-I promise I’ll make you feel safe enough to trust me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe me.”

Korra glanced back.

Asami was standing, had her hands curled into fists at her side; she looked terrified, but somehow, in spite of that, more resolute than Korra had ever seen her. The moon lay just behind her, casting her in an ethereal glow.

She looked…beautiful.

(The moon was a waxing gibbous, Korra noted vaguely.)

“And Korra?”

Korra tilted her head.

“Everything—everything outside of w-what you mentioned…it was all real to me,” Asami said softly.

Her eyes were glistening.

Korra didn’t know what to say to that.

So, she didn’t say anything at all.

She walked down the stairs alone, feeling a lot of things she didn’t fully understand.  


	14. Unfavorable Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, my life has been hell physically/mentally the last few weeks and an impromptu trip abroad came up, during which, I pushed myself way too hard and caught a fever. I was traveling alone, so y’know, that made healing that much easier (sarcasm intended). I just wanted to say please never worry about me abandoning this fic (unless I literally die); it’s very dear to me and has helped me overcome a lot of current hardships in my life. In general though, updates will be slow from here on out, as I mentioned.
> 
> Also, I’m sorry about any glaring grammar errors or just…weird English; I’ve been speaking in broken English and doing a lot of miming to get by here so I’m super rusty lmao.

* * *

“Can’t we just skip Potions?” Korra grumbled.

“Err, no—you’re going to be dropped from the class if we do. You’ve already used all your allowances this term,” Wing reminded her.

“Yeah, and then you won’t be eligible for the match tomorrow,” Wei chimed in.

“I mean, I didn’t directly say that—”

“I did!”

“—but—yeah,” Wing agreed, grinning sheepishly.

Korra groaned.

“Ugh, fine. You’re right,” she acquiesced with a scowl.

She’d skipped breakfast this morning—found absolutely no desire to consume—or do—anything once she’d realized today was her odd block (Potions, followed by Herbology, topped off with Remedial Charms). Only, Korra’s mood was strongly correlated with her appetite; the consequent walk from the Great Hall had been accompanied by an inordinate amount of sulking.

“Why does Sato hate you so much, anyway?” Wei probed.

_Because he thinks I killed his wife._

“Probably because he’s racist,” Korra replied sullenly.

She was beginning to lose track of all the lies she’d told; the web of confidences only grew more intricate with each day, and the haze in Korra’s memory grew with each night.

_I’ve probably lost ten years of my life with all this sleep deprivation._

“We’re not…y’know…either, though,” Wing pointed out.

“Yeah, I think he just has it out for you specifically,” Wei seconded.

“Thanks,” Korra retorted monotonously.

“Sorr—”

“You three are late.”

They weren’t—class wasn’t to begin for another five minutes.

“Ten points from Gryffindor.”

 _Of course_.

Wei opened his mouth to object, but both Korra and Wing quickly muttered, “Sorry, sir,” and dragged him to a table.

Most of the class had already assembled, including—

Korra met Asami’s gaze.

Asami mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

McNamara walked in right after them. Hiroshi said nothing.

_Again: Of course._

“This is rubbish,” Wei muttered under his breath. (More students poured in. More silence on Hiroshi’s part.)

“We don’t have a choice unless we want to forfeit the match,” Wing hissed back. “We need Korra.”

“Fine,” Wei huffed.

Then, he reached into his bookbag, and—with a completely neutral expression—deliberately dropped his textbook on the floor.

A loud _thwack_ reverberated throughout the dungeon.

Silence.

Hiroshi glowered in their direction. Wei gazed back just as defiantly.

Korra held her breath. Wing pinched the bridge of his nose.

Fortunately, Hiroshi merely curled his lip in disdain and turned to face the rest of the class.

“All right, get your quills out,” he ordered. 

Korra exhaled in relief, and then grinned at Wei. Wing sighed in resignation.

“…we won’t be brewing anything today, just going over past material…”

After nearly an hour of attempting to copy down Hiroshi’s monologue verbatim (and failing miserably), Korra’s hand was cramping. She set her quill down and rolled her wrist, willing herself to memorize whatever he was going on about until her hand recovered.

Abruptly, she remembered something.

_“He needs you for something…my father…and others…those above me would know.”_

More importantly—

_“He makes sure no Equalists learn Legilimency or Occlumency so he can control us.”_

Korra glanced at Hiroshi. He was still lecturing, drawing some sort of diagram on the chalkboard. Everyone else’s heads were down, noses pressed to their parchment.

It was worth a chance, she decided.

Korra picked up her quill and feigned attentiveness, waited until Hiroshi turned around again—

_Fuck!_

Ever so subtly (if one looked quickly, they’d miss it), Hiroshi smirked at her. In the place of his thoughts, all Korra could hear was—

_Elevator music? Seriously?_

Korra gritted her teeth. Hiroshi’s expression was nothing short of smug; evidently, he’d been tipped off about her ability.

She stole a glance at the back of Asami’s head. Surely not—

 _No, it wasn’t her,_ Korra realized after a beat (to her relief). _She’d have to admit that I know—she wouldn’t do something that would compromise her standing with him._

Though bewildered and thoroughly galled, Korra resumed taking notes.

Her mind was still racing.

_Who, then?_

Korra froze. Her blood ran cold.

_Of course._

Amon.

_He knows—of course he knows—your minds are literally connected, you dimwit._

“Korra, you all right?” Wing whispered, taking notice of her agitation. He glanced down at her parchment, which, other than the first quarter, was virtually blank. “Do you want to look at my notes?”

“I’m fine,” Korra all but squeaked. Wing looked skeptical. Wei glanced over. “Err, I-I mean, yeah, if that’s all right…”

Wing allowed Korra to peer over his shoulder for the remainder of class. (Wei didn’t seem to be paying attention at all.)

Korra had to admit, begrudgingly, she was impressed by Hiroshi’s intellectual capacity; he was somehow simultaneously blocking her from hearing his thoughts and covering six years of material verbally.

_I guess he is a nationally renowned genius._

“That’s all for today. Review chapters twelve and thirteen over the weekend—your exam will be the day before Christmas break,” Hiroshi concluded with a wave of his wand. The contents of the chalkboard vanished before Korra could finish copying them down.

_Son of a—_

“Oh, and good luck to our athletes tomorrow. I’ll be watching,” Hiroshi simpered innocently—deliberately.

Korra couldn’t fathom the glint in his eyes.

“That was ridiculous—and he’s obviously so biased towards Ravenclaw,” Wei griped as they filed out of the classroom.

“Oh, please—you’re just insecure about losing,” a new voice interjected.

Korra stopped walking; Wing came to a halt beside her soon after. They turned to find McNamara smirking at Wei, one hand on his satchel, the other tucked into his pocket.

They looked like polar opposites, standing across from one another. Wei, with his undercut, messy bangs, and (heavily) pierced ear, barely adhering to dress code, and McNamara, with his carefully styled hair (a shade between honey and amber), perfect exemplification of dress code, prefect badge pinned to his chest.

Wei glared at McNamara.

“We’re not going to lose,” he snapped, stepping closer to the other boy. “We’ve literally never lost a match against you.” He paused, and then added mischievously, “You would know, wouldn’t you? Being in the House that hasn’t won a single match since you became Captain.”

McNamara’s jaw clenched.

He stepped closer to Wei as well—close enough that their noses would be touching were McNamara not a head taller than him.

“We’ll see about that tomorrow,” he growled. “You seemed pretty scared in class the other day.”

All of Wei’s bravado evaporated.

His ears turned bright pink, and suddenly he was looking anywhere but at McNamara.

“S-shut up,” he countered lamely. “That—that wasn’t about Quidditch.”

McNamara’s face went blank.

Korra shared the sentiment.

_I still don’t know what’s happening._

She glanced at Wing, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Wei and McNamara. He looked like he was waiting for something.

At last, comprehension dawned on McNamara’s face—

“Oh.” He cleared his throat and stepped away from Wei. “I see.”

Wei wouldn’t raise his eyes from the floor.

Rubbing the back of his neck, McNamara mumbled, “Good luck tomorrow,” before walking away briskly.

Korra glanced quizzically at Wing. There was a knowing look on his face—but it disappeared when he met her gaze.

“No clue,” he said with a shrug. “C’mon, let’s head to Herbology before Tarrlok decides to dock points, too.”

Korra was about to concur with this when something occurred to her.

_Should I walk with Asami?_

She hesitated.

While their talk had certainly alleviated much of the unspoken tension between them—and given Korra a great deal to reflect on (as Bolin predicted)—it was no panacea; Korra still found herself uneasy at the prospect of spending time with Asami. Nevertheless, if the twins had picked up on the (while rather obvious) conflict between her and Hiroshi, it was only a matter of time before they took notice of the rift between her and Asami.

That would be followed by the inevitable ‘Why?’—to which, Korra had no answer, unless she was willing to sentence Asami to a Dementor’s Kiss.

_Ugh. Maintaining pretenses is work I didn’t sign up for._

“Wait.” Korra held her arm out. Wing stopped, eyebrow raised inquisitively. “Err, someone needs to walk with Asami,” she explained, rubbing her shoulder.

“Oh, right. We can wait for her?”

“Nah, you two go on ahead. I’ll wait. She has Ancient Runes next and that’s on the other side of the castle. I don’t want you to be ‘late’ again—y’know Tarrlok has it out for me, too,” Korra added.

(She was somewhat disconcerted by the number of adversaries she’d garnered this year.)

Fortunately, Wing seemed too concerned about his brother to challenge this; Wei was still gazing at the floor (it was perhaps the longest amount of time he’d ever gone without speaking).

“All right,” Wing agreed absentmindedly. He offered Korra a parting smile and then cupped his mouth with one hand and shouted, “Wei, let’s go!”

Wei’s head snapped up—he looked like he’d been yanked out of a trance. (His cheeks were still burning.) After a few blinks, he stumbled after his brother in a daze; it was only when they reached the end of the corridor that he remembered Korra, and turned to wave haphazardly.

Bemused, Korra waved back. Then, she sighed.

She trudged back towards the Potions classroom.

Korra was just about to enter it (the hallway was deserted at this point; there was no reason for Asami to be taking so long) when—

“You seem to be spending a lot of time with…Korra.”

Korra froze.

Her fingertips were hovering just inches from the door.

Slowly, she retracted her hand, and flattened herself against the wall beside it.

Hiroshi’s voice was suspicious, laced with (reasonable) misgivings.

_Shit. If he knows—or suspects—then…_

“That’s literally my job, father,” Asami retorted in an even voice.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Hiroshi replied impatiently. Korra had to edge closer to hear the next part, for Hiroshi lowered his voice to just above a whisper— “Just don’t get too fond of her. There are two parts to your job.”

Korra’s stomach churned.

She turned away from the door, barely restraining the bile rising in her throat.

 _I guess I’ll walk alone._ A beat. _No, I already told the twins I was coming with Asami._

So, she waited by the end of the hall.

Eventually, Asami emerged, shoulders slumped. She looked like someone had kicked the life out of her.

Her face brightened when she caught sight of Korra.

“You waited for me?” Asami asked uncertainly, as though she couldn’t believe it.

Korra rubbed the back of her neck.

She gestured for them to start walking, and waited until they were a safe distance away from the classroom to answer, “If I avoid you too much, the twins are going to start asking.” When Asami’s face fell, she sighed. “And, part of me missed walking with you,” Korra admitted reluctantly.

Asami looked away, smiling.

_I never catch a break with her. Even when I’m allowed to hate her, I can’t._

They walked in silence.

After several moments, Asami stole a glance at Korra. What she found there seemed to sober her, for she slowed down.

“You…heard, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Korra’s grip tightened on her bookbag.

“Yeah.”

Asami stopped walking completely.

“It’s fine, we’ll be late—” Korra started to say, but she fell silent when Asami took one of her hands between both of her own.

Korra couldn’t remember the last time Asami had touched her—found herself overwhelmed with nostalgia, and something else, something new.

“Don’t worry,” Asami breathed. Her eyes were sparkling with unmistakable sincerity. (It made Korra want to look away for some reason.) “Everything will be okay.”

“Do you know what he’s planning?” Korra inquired after a beat. (She wouldn’t look at Asami.)

Asami hesitated, and then shook her head. “No, I think he’s worried I’m too soft. He hasn’t told me anything for a while.”

Korra’s stomach sank.

“Right…” she mumbled, suddenly feeling small.

Asami squeezed her hand, and Korra fell silent again.

“Don’t worry,” Asami repeated. She gazed down at Korra, eyes warm, smile soft, incandescent. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Korra didn’t want to believe her (didn’t want to get hurt all over again).

But she found herself dazed, anyway.

 

* * *

 

“I feel like we’re more unprepared for this match than we were for the one against Hufflepuff—and that’s saying something,” Mako grumbled, pulling on his Quidditch gloves.

“We’ll be fine,” Korra reassured him, sounding more confident than she felt.

“Yeah, plus Ravenclaw sucks,” Wei chimed in from across the changing room.

Everyone laughed.

Admittedly, with fall term exams approaching—combined with the lingering trauma of the Hogsmeade raid and newly enhanced security—Quidditch practice had taken the backburner for most teams. Of course, with the drive for research, Mako, Bolin, and Korra had even less time to think about the sport than any other players. (Hufflepuff had played Slytherin earlier this month—lost miserably, though that could be attributed to Slytherin’s underhandedness more so than Hufflepuff’s ineptness.)

Their almost daily practices had been reduced to two a week; moreover, Mako often came unprepared, too exhausted from mounting Head Boy duties.

Despite herself, Korra had nearly forgotten about the match altogether with everything that had transpired recently. If anything, she was holding out for winter break to catch up on sorely needed sleep—and use the lapse in obligations to focus her energy on bridging the gaps in their knowledge about the Chosen One.

_And, more importantly, whatever Amon is after._

Only one person wasn’t laughing.

Korra stopped when she noticed Wing was gazing at Wei with a concerned expression.

**I wonder if he’s going to be okay playing against Finn? I mean, it’s not like he hasn’t before, but now…**

_Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that,_ Korra thought, averting her gaze hastily.

“All right, well, taking Wei’s statement into consideration—I think we’ll be fine out there,” Mako chuckled. He held out his hand. “Gryffindor on three. One, two, three—”

“GRYFFINDOR!” the team roared.

Mako noticed something as Korra withdrew her hand.

“Korra, you still haven’t bought new Quidditch gloves?” he chided.

Korra blinked and then glanced down at her bare hands.

“Err, no—sorry. Haven’t had time.”

Mako frowned. “We do have owl post, y’know. It may not compare to the muggles’ Amazon Prime, but it’s not too shabby.”

Korra grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I completely forgot…I can just borrow a pair from the shed.”

“While true, I want nothing less than top-of-the-line equipment for our star player,” Mako replied with a hint of a smile. Korra smiled back. “I’ll see you out there, yeah? Don’t be too late.”

He squeezed her shoulder and then exited the changing room, the rest of the team on his heels.

After a pit stop at the shed, Korra joined the rest of her team on the field. Everyone was already in the air, and the stands were bustling with life.

With everything that had taken place, the school was sorely in need of a distraction, and this was more than evident in the overwhelming turnout. (She beamed at the very poorly constructed sign being held above the Hufflepuff box; it read ‘Korra for Minister of Magic #2k19’ and, Korra was sure, was probably inspired by Bolin’s new interest in social media.)

“No funny business this time,” Madam Xu remarked coldly, gaze settling on Korra.

“Yes, ma’am,” she retorted bitterly.

_I bet she never says that to Tahno._

“Now, then, Captains, if you would step forward for the coin toss…”

Mako and McNamara glided forward on their Satobrooms. McNamara was looking at Wei, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze.

Korra didn’t know whether it was his distraction or pure luck that Mako won the coin toss. (The Gryffindor box roared; the Ravenclaw box hardly stirred.)

“Gryffindor will start with the Quaffle! Get ready, on your marks…”

However, the moment Madam Xu blew her whistle, Korra knew something was wrong.

Wing never missed a shot.

“Whoa!” Terrace cried, swerving out of the way. The Bludger just narrowly missed her. She turned on Wing. “What the hell?”

“Sorry!” Wing replied, in clear distress. “I hit it towards Ravenclaw! I don’t even know how that happened—it literally defied all laws of physics!”

Wing’s assessment wasn’t inaccurate. The Bludger seemed to be moving of its own accord—well, it always did—but this time, with purpose, specifically pursuing Gryffindor players. In fact, it seemed to have one target in particular—

“Merlin!” Korra yelped, diving into an impromptu loop-the-loop.

The Bludger grazed the tip of her ponytail; the momentum alone was telling—impact would be lethal.

The crowd began murmuring. Many spectators were pointing at Korra, who’d been forced to forfeit any semblance of actual Quidditch plays in favor of (incessant) evasive maneuvers. The Bludger was relentless.

“Are my eyes deceiving me or does that Bludger have it out for Gryffindor’s star chaser? Korra can’t seem to catch a break!” Shinobi relayed.

“Mako!” Korra called when she’d gained a moment of respite.

Meanwhile, Mako was near the Ravenclaw goal posts already. Korra’s summon drew his attention—

“Oof! Distracted by his own teammate! Gryffindor loses their lead to Ravenclaw as Finn McNamara takes possession of the Quaffle!” Shinobi fired into the enchanted megaphone.

“Bloody hell! _What?_ ” Mako demanded as he kicked after McNamara.

Fortunately, Tu was prepared, and blocked McNamara’s advance easily.

“Can you get us a time out?” Korra continued when she’d caught up to Mako.

He stared at her, exasperated.

“Why? The match just started—”

Wing, again, attempted to hit one of the Bludgers towards McNamara; again, the Bludger rebelled against his direction and instead—

“Whoa!” Mako cried, all but dropping out of the air in an attempt to dodge the rogue ball. He stared after it in disbelief.

While Bludgers were enchanted to roam the field on their own, they generally yielded to Beaters—at least following their guidance. However, in this case, Wing’s diagnosis proved correct: The Bludger had merely paused midair and then hurtled towards Gryffindor in blatant defiance of any rational explanation.

That seemed to be all the convincing Mako needed.

“We need a time out!” he called, hands cupped around his mouth.

Madam Xu looked annoyed.

“The match just started,” she echoed, scowling.

“We know,” Mako replied impatiently.

“You only have one more after this,” Madam Xu reminded him.

“That’s fine.”

“What’s this? It seems one of the Bludgers has a mind of its own! The referee seems not to care, however…. Gryffindor seems to be taking a time out to re-strategize,” Shinobi commented in the distance. 

Even the Ravenclaw team looked perplexed by the Bludger’s behavior, hovering in the air like bystanders waiting to see what would happen.

“What the hell is going on?” Wei demanded as he joined the others on the ground.

“Beats me,” Tu said unhelpfully.

“That Bludger’s been tampered with,” Wing declared.

“Slytherin?” Wei suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe they’re still miffed we outsmarted them last time.”  

Korra glanced at the stands.

The audience looked bewildered; the professors were muttering grimly; the Slytherin box was shaking with glee (yet somehow, Korra doubted it was them). Obviously, everyone had noticed.

Then, her eyes narrowed.

Hiroshi alone looked unconcerned.

_Of course._

Korra’s jaw clenched.

_And of course, I can’t tell anyone. I have no proof…_

Mako shook his head. “I doubt it. Either way, it doesn’t seem like Madam Xu is going to do anything about it, so we need to figure something out. Any suggestions?” 

“Not really, but—is it just me or does it seem to be targeting Korra?” Terrace piped up, glancing at Korra worriedly.

Mako frowned. “If you’re right, then—”

“She’s right,” Wing confirmed.

Mako grimaced.

Then, with a shake of his head, he gathered himself and barked, “All right. In that case—you two, protect Korra.” Wing and Wei saluted in perfect synchronization. “Kai, catch the Snitch as fast as you can—” Kai pumped his hands in the air, as if to say ‘Finally!’ “—we need to end this match quickly and talk to the professors.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the team.

“You done?” Madam Xu called irritably.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mako answered and then turned back to the team. “Be careful out there. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Aye, aye, Capt’n,” Wei rejoindered.

The ghost of a smile on everyone’s faces—brief—then they grew solemn again.

“Gryffindor returns to the field, recharged with new tactics.”

Less than a few seconds before Madam Xu blew her whistle—

They were off again.

Mako’s strategy proved effective in evening the disadvantage. Although the Bludger refused to cooperate with Gryffindor, Wing and Wei did manage to prevent Korra’s untimely demise. Meanwhile, Mako, Terrace, and Kai managed well on their own; Ravenclaw’s defense was too weak to actually keep up with them, even with one Bludger staunchly opposed to Gryffindor.

Korra felt a little childish, flying with the twins trailing after her like personal bodyguards—too reminiscent of her childhood—but she _had_ scored five of the eight goals in Gryffindor’s favor thanks to their protection.

She shot a glance at the staff box as she passed it. Hiroshi looked infuriated.

 _Things not going according to plan?_ Korra thought, rather satisfied.

“Having fun playing guard dog?”

_Ugh._

Wei glowered at McNamara. He’d materialized out of nowhere in an attempt to—if not physically—then mentally throw off his opposition.

“You’re just bitter because we’re still beating you even though the game is rigged.”

McNamara’s face soured. “That isn’t our fault.”

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me,” Wei shot back.

“Wei! Focus!” Wing hissed. “This is exactly what he wants!”

Korra, who was now far ahead of them, paused—ducked just in time. The twins’ lapse in concentration had granted the Bludger a choice opportunity.

She opened her mouth to get their attention—

“Either Korra has decided to imitate what the American muggles call a ‘rodeo’ or there’s something going on with her broomstick! Today is _not_ the day for Gryffindor!”

As he’d described, Korra’s Satobroom was behaving like an untamed horse; it was bucking, swerving, doing its utmost best to dislodge her—

 _What the hell is going on?_ Korra thought desperately, clinging to the broomstick’s handle for dear life. Never had she experienced—nor witnessed —such a phenomenon, though, familiarity with the subject would probably do little to assuage the situation. 

Everyone was pointing, shouting—the professors were beginning to rise, drawing their wands—Mako and Terrace had abandoned the Quaffle and were racing towards her—

Korra’s Quidditch training was her saving grace, but her grip was beginning to weaken. Her forearms were searing with the strain of her bodyweight—

Shinobi’s voice grew more panicked. “Someone do something, quick!”

A particularly nasty thrust—Korra flew forward—

The crowd gasped.

Korra had managed to grab the handle of her Satobroom with one hand, but was otherwise suspended hundreds of feet in the air with nothing but her upper-body strength standing between her and fatality. Her hands were clammy, she wouldn’t last—

All Korra could hear was the commotion around her—the wind, the erratic jerks of her broomstick—her eyes were screwed shut, if she looked down, it would only be a matter of time before—

“KORRA!”

She couldn’t tell who was calling her name—there were too many identical cries—the whole stadium seemed to be chanting her name—

_Stop—I can’t think—_

Her fingers slipped…

The last thing Korra remembered was Asami—Asami staring directly at her, unblinking, muttering something under her breath; her gaze was unyielding, lips moving rapidly, like she was casting a jinx—

_No…please…_

Then nothing.

 

* * *

 

Korra had never experienced such a lovely sensation.

It was as if she was floating, skating through a warm, smooth substance that felt a lot like a pleasant bath in the prefects’ bathroom—she was stationary, though…

She could barely keep her eyes open—decided against it…

She came to every once in a while. Occasionally, there was a spike of pain—in her side, her leg, her shoulder—then it was gone.

Korra wanted nothing more than to sleep forever. There was something nagging at her—something at the back of her mind, undesirable, incessant—

 _Hush_ , she thought sleepily. _Hush, hush._ It could wait.

Somnolence tugged at her eyelids, and she returned to a state of bliss.

Sometimes, she would feel a light pressure on her forehead, on her cheeks. It wasn’t unpleasant—rather, it was gentle, tender. It would be accompanied by a soft squeeze—her right hand—

It sounded like someone was whispering, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

At one point there was a weight on Korra’s arm that felt like a Quaffle; it remained there for what seemed to be a while, the grip on her hand resolute—

“Look, she’s waking up!”

“Thank Merlin.”

“I told you she’d be fine.”

“Err, no, you were crying the whole time.”

“Was not—”

Korra winced.

There was a chorus of voices surrounding her—her bed? She shifted. She was definitely in a bed. The pleasant sensation had been replaced by a throbbing headache. Her throat felt raw, mouth dry, and her eyes ached as though they hadn’t been opened in days (perhaps they hadn’t).

“Korra?”

One voice stood out from the rest. It was softer, quieter, yet somehow, it was the clearest.

Korra opened her eyes and was met with brilliant emerald.

 _Asami,_ she thought numbly. _How could you…?_

As her eyes adjusted, Korra realized she was in the hospital wing. Surrounding her were her friends—the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, no longer in uniform (how many days had it been?), Bolin, Opal, Tenzin, Ikki, Pema, sitting at the foot of her bed…

And, on a stool by her side, cradling her right hand between two of her own, Asami.

_You promised…_

There was bright light—

Korra immediately screwed her eyes shut.

“No, no, dear. I need to check if you have a concussion,” Pema clucked.

Reluctantly, Korra pried her eyes open and stared into the tip of Pema’s illuminated wand. Pema moved it from side to side; Korra submitted, forcing her gaze to follow it (she wanted nothing more than to return to sleep).

“Can you name everyone here for me, sweetheart?” Pema continued, stowing her wand.

Korra blinked several times, wishing (in vain) for the stinging to stop. It felt like someone had used a pipette to suck all the moisture out of her eyes.

Slowly, she gazed at each of her loved ones’ faces.

“Bolin,” she mumbled.

Bolin was kneeling beside Korra’s bed. As someone (Opal?) had pointed out, his eyes were red, as though he’d been crying.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he whispered, lips quivering. His eyes began watering again. “You need to stop getting hurt.”

_Tell me about it._

“Mako,” Korra rasped.

Mako was standing just behind Asami, looking as if the orphanage had been destroyed all over again. In the urgency of the situation, his estrangement with Asami seemed to be forgotten—or reconciled—for he had a hand on the heiress’s shoulder. He sighed in relief when Korra successfully identified him, as though he’d expected her to forget.

Korra didn’t—wouldn’t look at the next person.

“A-Asami.” Her voice cracked.

If Asami was hurt by Korra’s less-than-warm acknowledgment, she didn’t let it show.

As Korra continued down the line, her awareness grew, and the ache in her head—her eyes—her mouth—faded.

“Opal.” Opal nodded, pleased. “Tu.” Tu grinned. “Terrace.” Terrace, like Mako, exhaled in relief. “Tenzin.” Tenzin beamed tearfully. “Pema.”

Pema chuckled. “You could’ve skipped me, but I’m glad to see you remember. Go on.”

“Ikki,” Korra said, eyes softening.

Ikki was the youngest one present, and seemed the most shaken by the turn of events. She jumped when Korra said her name, grabbing a hold of Tenzin’s robes. When Korra’s lips twitched—a feeble attempt at a smile—Ikki edged forward timidly, smiling back.

“How are you feeling, Korra? Are you going to be okay? Are you going to give up Quidditch? Do you know what happ—”

“Now is not the time, Ikki,” Tenzin sighed. (However, he sounded entirely unsurprised by his child’s behavior.)

“Can you keep going, dear?” Pema urged gently.

 _Do I really have to?_ Korra thought unenthusiastically.

But she obeyed, anyway.

“Wing.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“Hey, champ,” he greeted.

“Kai.”

The third year immediately burst into (unprompted) apologies.

“Korra, I’m really, really sorry I didn’t come help you,” he blubbered incoherently, almost on par with Ikki. “I was trying to catch the Snitch quickly so the match would end—”

“It’s okay,” Korra cut him off. Kai, just beyond the threshold of childhood, looked like he was also about to burst into tears. “You did well.”

 “She’s right,” Mako agreed. “If you hadn’t caught the Snitch, we wouldn’t have been able to end the game as soon—"

“We won?” Korra croaked, to everyone’s amusement.

“Not sure that’s what you should be focused on, but yes,” Pema sighed as everyone else chuckled. “Can you lot keep from distracting her until I’m done?”

Korra frowned as she refocused on the faces before her. Someone was missing.

“Where’s Wei?”

Pema smiled, satisfied. “That’s everything for now. Oh, and to answer your question—” she tilted her head towards the other end of the hospital wing.

Korra followed her gaze to the only other occupied bed.

To her immense disbelief, Wei and McNamara were murmuring to each other in hushed undertones, heads pressed together.

_Don’t they hate each other?_

Then, McNamara reached out and squeezed Wei’s hand softly.

Korra stared.

“You should thank him when you feel better,” Pema remarked fondly.

Korra’s head snapped towards Pema (she immediately regretted it).

“Wei?”

Pema shook her head. “Finn.”

Korra’s jaw dropped.

“His leg took quite a beating when he caught you. Just before you hit the ground,” Tenzin supplied, catching sight of the look on Korra’s face.

“O-oh.”

Korra didn’t know what to say—didn’t know what to think. She glanced back. Wei, although slightly bruised, didn’t look any more beat up than he usually did after a match. McNamara was the one in a hospital gown, and though he was sitting upright, his leg was propped up in a sling suspended from the steel frame surrounding his bed. (Pema must have focused on treating Korra first.)

“Is he going to be okay?” Korra asked after a beat.

Pema nodded. “Don’t worry. He’s in much better shape than you are. Speaking of whom, do you need anything before I go check on him?”

_A nap._

“Water,” Korra grunted.

Asami was the one to fetch it. Korra didn’t know how to feel.

“Slow down,” Pema ordered, eyes widening.

Korra had nearly finished the glass in less than ten seconds. She wanted to protest—then her stomach churned unpleasantly—and her grievances dissipated completely. With trembling fingers, she handed the glass to Pema.

“H-how long has it been?” Korra asked, almost afraid of the answer.

To her relief—

“It’s been a day, dear. I gave you a sleeping potion for the night so I could work on you without disturbing you,” Pema explained before rising to her feet. “I’m going to go check on Mr. McNamara now. The rest of you should get going, it’s nearly nine a.m.”

“I can ditch class,” Bolin objected, but Opal fixed him with a stern glare, as if to say, ‘You’re a prefect,’ and he immediately faltered.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Mako promised. He reached forward to pat Korra’s hand gingerly.

“Do you want anything from the kitchens?” Wing whispered.

Korra smiled, shook her head. The thought of eating made her queasy.

“Lin is looking into the matter—the broomstick jinxing and the cursed Bludger. I’ll be joining her shortly,” Tenzin announced importantly.

Korra didn’t know what outcome she was hoping for anymore.

She nodded, smiling tightly.

Despite all this, nobody moved.

“I’ll be fine,” Korra insisted when everyone continued to loiter. “Go on. Exams are coming up.” More hesitation. “Tenzin, you’re a _professor_ , for Merlin’s sake.”

Finally, after exchanging uncertain glances, everyone muttered (actual) farewells. Gradually—throwing looks of concern over their shoulders on their way out—the crowd by Korra’s bed disappeared (Wei had been forced to leave, as well).

Only Asami remained, to Korra’s dismay.

As Kai, who was at the tail end of Korra’s visitors, neared the door, someone else burst in.

“Korra! Are you all right?” Jinora hollered. She dashed past Kai (who went scarlet and promptly scurried out) and all but dropped at the foot of Korra’s bed. “I’m so sorry I’m late–I made up my Ancient Runes exam this morning so I could come visit a little longer.”

“It’s okay,” Korra chuckled, both impressed by Jinora’s dedication and academic aptitude and disheartened at the reminder of exams. (Hopefully she’d be excused.) Then, her face darkened. “Sorry, not to be rude, but do you mind if I have a word with Asami first before she heads to class?”

Asami frowned.

“I’m not—”

“Can you close the curtains?” Korra added, as though Asami hadn’t spoken.

Jinora blinked. Her eyes darted between Korra and Asami warily. There was no mistaking the tension between them—it was nearly palpable.

If Jinora was suspicious (she probably was), she said nothing, and obeyed without protest.

Korra waited until it sounded like Jinora was a safe distance away—heard her conversing with her mother by McNamara’s bedside—to turn to Asami.

Asami looked startled that Korra had finally decided to look her in the eyes—then, even more so by the ire that awaited her. It died rather quickly, Korra didn’t possess the stamina to express her current sentiments properly, but the impact lingered.

The heiress lowered her eyes.

“Y-you promised,” Korra began in an unsteady voice.

Asami blinked. She looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Korra found herself more frustrated that Asami was playing innocent—or, worse, had genuinely forgotten. As though every empty promise she’d uttered was that unmemorable, as though every lie she told Korra was on a passing whim.

“You promised everything would be okay,” Korra continued. She didn’t know why she was whispering. Why she was still trying to protect Asami—Asami, who’d tried to end her. “You...said all that—you said you weren’t trying to…you said he didn’t want to kill me—"

Comprehension dawned on Asami’s face. She leapt back, as though she’d been electrocuted.

“Korra, your broomstick—” Asami began, but Korra cut her off.

“You promised,” she repeated, again, like a broken record. Her lips were quivering.

She didn’t know if she was angrier at Asami or at herself, for believing Asami—for letting herself get hurt all over again—for letting Asami see her vulnerable like this.

_Stop it, shut up, shut up, shut up—_

(It was her. Korra loathed herself.)

“That wasn’t me,” Asami insisted. She looked horrified that Korra believed this was her doing; there was a desperation on her face—one Korra had seen several times.

One Korra had fallen for several times.

“Am I just a joke to you?” she hissed. “Wait, don’t answer that. You’ve proven it enough times. Why don’t you just do it now? Y’know. Carry out part two of your ‘job.’ I’m vulnerable. You already tried in front of the entire school.”

“Korra, please—I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Asami pleaded. Her eyes were imploring. “I was trying to—"

Korra was too tired to be angry. Too tired to be hurt.

“Please,” she whispered, turning her face away. Asami fell silent. “Please, just…just go.”

( _Don’t._ )

Asami’s eyes were watering. Her hand was hovering above Korra’s, fingers trembling.

( _Don’t go_.)

But, without another word, she complied.

Korra watched her go.

(She couldn’t identify the sensation in her stomach.)

After an eternity, during which, Korra fumed silently, willing herself not to cry—

“Can I come in, now?”

Korra flinched violently. She’d all but forgotten about Jinora.

“Oh, err, yeah.” Korra tried to sit up—failed—and slid back down on her pillow in resignation. She gestured feebly for Jinora to open the curtains.

“I think it’s better if we have some privacy for what I want to tell you,” Jinora said grimly.

The look on her face made Korra’s stomach churn again.

_I really don’t want to have this conversation right now._

“It can’t wait,” Jinora added, seeing the look on Korra’s face.

“All right,” Korra relented. “Go on, then.”

Jinora cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, as though verifying her mother’s whereabouts. Both girls held their breath. In the distance, Korra could hear Pema muttering something to McNamara.

“So, it might…sound a little…far-fetched,” Jinora began tentatively.

_With everything I’ve been through this year, it can’t be that weird. Did you know your dead grandpa tried talking to me via nightmare?_

“Don’t worry, I’ll hear you out,” Korra replied, attempting to smile reassuringly.

Jinora relaxed. Then, her face tightened, and she reached into her robes. After some hesitation, she produced a singular vial.

Within the bottle was—in the place of a liquid—some sort of vapor. It was silvery, wispy, reminded Korra of a weak Patronus; it swirled around discontentedly, as if it couldn’t wait to escape.

“Err…you found a pet?” Korra inquired, eyebrow poised.

Jinora looked like she didn’t know whether she was supposed to laugh or not.

Recognizing Korra was being serious, she explained, “It’s a memory. I used the memory-extraction spell—” Korra was beyond impressed; they’d learned about it in Charms, but had been told they’d never need to study it, it was magic far beyond what was necessary for the average wizard “—because I thought…I thought we’d need proof.”

Korra couldn’t breathe.

Slowly, shakily, she asked, “Proof for what?”

Jinora lowered her gaze. She looked like she was gathering the courage to voice a thought that would banish her from any realm of social acceptance.

Finally—

“To turn Hiroshi Sato in as an Equalist,” she confessed.

Korra choked.

_What did she see? How did she—_

“How did you—” _that’s pretty much admitting you already knew_ “—I mean—what—?” Korra spluttered.

Jinora withdrew the vial, holding it close to her chest as though Korra might swat it out of her hands. She thumbed the tip of it as she spoke.

“I know it sounds…absurd, to say the least. But I’ve suspected it from the first day of school, to be honest,” she admitted. “It was just weird—y’know? This super successful businessman and his daughter appearing at Hogwarts just as the Equalist movement was gaining momentum. It was…too convenient, I guess? They’re both muggle-borns.

“And I heard some of the sixth years talking in the Common Room about how he _really_ hates you…I didn’t really want to make any assumptions based on that—there’s always been some sort of friction between muggle-borns and purebloods, as you know. But then you told me about your visions, and I couldn’t help but think…maybe there’s something more. There has to be a reason Amon can—and wants to—contact you.”

Korra hesitated, wondering if she should fill in the gaps for Jinora. (She decided against it.) She nodded slowly.

“Then—I don’t know how long ago it was now, maybe two months ago? I was going to his office to ask him a question about homework, but I overheard him arguing with Asami. He was saying that she needed to remember her roots and she was saying that he was too obsessed with revenge.” Jinora hesitated, glanced at Korra cautiously. “I know you’re really close with Asami. I…I don’t know if she’s involved too,” she said carefully.

There was something there—the hint of the earlier confrontation between Korra and Asami, a question within the statement, heavy with implications.

When Korra did nothing but shake her head, as if to say, ‘I don’t know,’ Jinora pressed on, “Based on what I heard, I don’t think she is. She was really mad about the way Hiroshi treated you. She said her…mom would be disappointed in him?”

Korra looked away bitterly.

_Was this all an act? From the start?_

Then, Jinora said something that made Korra’s heart stop.

“I wasn’t certain about any of this until yesterday.” Jinora met Korra’s eyes. Somehow, Korra knew what she would say before she said it. “I saw him jinxing your broomstick.”

Korra remembered Asami’s eyes.

_“That wasn’t me.”_

Her hand, hovering just above Korra’s.

_“Korra, please—”_

Korra felt like throwing up.

She took several moments to collect herself—and even that wasn’t enough. The ground had been rooted up from underneath her, and Korra was falling through a bottomless abyss.

_Fuck, fuck—FUCK._

“Korra, are you all right?”

_No._

The expression on Jinora’s face was enough for Korra to deduce her own. She cleared her throat multiple times—still couldn’t find her voice—nor the will to speak. Jinora reached out and squeezed Korra’s hand; she scarcely resisted the impulse to flinch away.

“H-how do you know?” Korra stammered. Her voice came out even hoarser than earlier.

Jinora raised the vial with her other hand.

“I saw him at the match—he was the only professor that didn’t stand up when your broomstick started acting out. He was looking right at you—wouldn’t break eye contact, was muttering something. That’s—” she wiggled the bottle “—that’s what I have here.”

Korra felt hollow.

_“The Broom Jinx is incredibly dark magic, used to throw their riders off their broomsticks. It’s about the only thing that can interfere with a broomstick—besides the Hurling Hex. It requires constant eye contact to be cast properly. In the event that eye contact is broken, the spell is rendered ineffective. It can be cast wandlessly and at a distance—but that would require serious skill and practice,” Lin had drawled a million years ago, perhaps in their second or third year._

_Wei’s hand had shot up. He’d begun speaking before Lin even called on him._

_“Is there a way to counter it?” he’d demanded eagerly._

_“Just one. The counter-curse. That is also performed in the same manner—constant eye contact. It is, of course, much weaker than the jinx itself, and unless the caster can outperform the dark wizard, it will not be as effective.”_

_No…no…_

“I’m sorry—I know this must be really difficult for you to process right now,” Jinora said gently when Korra remained silent. Korra barely heard her. “I just—I just thought you should know. I didn’t know who else to go to—err, well—who to go to first. Should I take this to my dad?”

That jerked Korra back to the moment.

She shook her head fervently; it would’ve been too fervent, too telling, were she not so weak that she could hardly perform the action.

“No, it’s…it’s fine. You did the right thing, I’ll—I’ll take this to Tenzin and Lin when I feel better,” she stuttered, accepting the vial. The weight of the bottle, virtually nonexistent, proved too much for Korra in her current state (was it truly physical?); her fingers were shaking, and she nearly dropped the bottle in her haste. “Do you mind if I rest now?”

It was a polite way of saying, ‘Can you leave me alone?’

Jinora was too astute to not pick up on this.

“Yeah, of course.” She squeezed Korra’s hand delicately. “Feel better, Korra.”

Korra was left feeling as though Amon had stripped her of her magic.

Suddenly, her limbs weighed a ton, and she found little will to remain conscious. Fatigued beyond belief, Korra barely managed to lift her eyes to meet Pema’s when the nurse returned to her bedside.

“Can I go back to sleep?” she mumbled as Pema pulled the curtains back.

Pema’s eyes were sad. “No, darling, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I need you to stay up a little longer. I promise I’ll let you know when it’s all right.”

“Okay,” Korra conceded drowsily.

Pema sat down beside her, gazing at her as though her own child were wounded. She reached forward to brush a lock of hair out of Korra’s face before drawing her wand. With a swish, she summoned a floating tray laden with flasks; each was a different size and shape, boasting various colors.

Korra watched Pema work on her injuries intently (wearily), trying to keep her mind off—itself. Whether it was Pema’s skill or the magic of—magic itself—Korra felt no pain.

“You’re very fortunate, dear,” Pema piped up after a moment.

Korra raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Because I didn’t die?”

Pema chuckled. “Well, that too, I suppose. What I meant to say was that I’ve seen family and friends visit patients here all the time, but I’ve never seen someone as dedicated as your new friend.”

Korra’s heart somersaulted.

“A-Asami?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Pema nodded, still focused on her work. “I tried to tell her visiting hours were over but she wouldn’t listen—insisted that she wanted to help take care of you.” She paused to chortle. “I have to admit, she did know her way around potions. Anyway, she was by your side the whole night. Couldn’t get her to budge, even to rest.”

Korra thought of the weight on her arm—the strokes to her face, her hand.

“She’s a good friend, that Sato girl.”

“Yeah,” Korra agreed numbly. “I guess she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this has been made obvious but Korra is a little slow here when it comes to relationships (considering she hasn’t picked up on Mako’s feelings, Asami’s feelings, or her own feelings, lmao) and queerness in general given her socially-starved childhood. Despite her ability to read people, she’s always going to be a bit socially challenged, because that’s our little awkward bean.


	15. Foreboding

“I need you to come with me to spy on your dad.”

Asami blinked.

“What?”

Pema had very clearly instructed Korra to head straight to bed after discharging her.

So, naturally, Korra had picked a fight with the eagle knocker until Asami had emerged from the Ravenclaw Common Room.

(The process hadn’t actually been that straightforward—in fact, it was only when a Ravenclaw prefect patrolling nearby had overheard that they’d volunteered to fetch Asami for her.)

Korra balked.

“Err…I, um. I had a…” _vision._

_Right. Asami doesn’t know about those…_

Asami was still staring at Korra, waiting for an explanation. It was half past nine—half past curfew—and evidently the heiress had planned to retire soon, barring the interruption. Her hair was down, face devoid of maquillage, and she was sporting a silk nightgown. It was an enticing shade of pearl, ending mid-thigh; the straps were far too thin in Korra’s opinion, and the transparent cardigan Asami wore over the gown did little to hide how revealing it was.

( _Why do I care?_ )

“Um…your dad is meeting with Amon tonight, right? He meets with him on the first of every month,” Korra continued, addressing the ceiling.

(December had come far too soon.)

Asami’s eyes widened. She scanned the corridor in a panic (safe, Korra had ascertained), before stealing a glance at Korra.

“How did you know that?” she whispered.

“Err…” Korra rubbed her shoulder.

_This is going to be a very long conversation._

“I can explain on the way?” she finished weakly.

Asami hesitated. Her eyes were on Korra’s legs; Korra was still leaning to one side.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?”

Korra nodded fervently. “We don’t have time. Whatever Hiro—err, your dad—is planning, he’s going to do it soon.” A pause. “Err, that is…if you…if you do want to join me.”

It’d actually been several days since Korra had last seen Asami. Following Korra’s (regrettable) outburst, Asami had taken to avoiding the hospital wing altogether. She’d supplied Bolin with notes from Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts to deliver to Korra—in addition to very well-orchestrated excuses, leaving Korra to feel even worse.

There was more Korra wanted to say, sitting at the base of her tongue like a leaden weight—more she wanted to do, were her hands not tied behind her back, the prisoner of her own immeasurable inelegance. (This, combined with the undeniable knowledge of fault, which had haunted her since…)

Asami studied Korra silently.

Korra had always believed that, despite their differences, despite the relative brevity of their friendship, Asami understood her better than anyone. The heiress proved this once again, when her face softened in recognition that this poorly executed request was Korra’s way of conveying trust, that behind Korra’s demand lay a trembling plea for Asami’s company.

Asami nodded. “Let’s go. I know where they’re meeting.”

Now it was Korra’s turn to make due on her promise.

Moving through the castle wasn’t too difficult; with Korra’s prefect status, anyone who encountered them was under the impression that Asami was either being escorted or in some sort of trouble. It was finding the ability to voice all that she’d kept from Asami for so long that proved impossible.

“So…there’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Korra began slowly, unable to meet Asami’s gaze.

Asami nodded sadly.

“Yeah, I…don’t blame you.”

“I don’t know that we have time to go over all of it now but…I promise I’ll fill you in soon,” Korra said earnestly, meeting Asami’s gaze. Asami looked surprised—then relieved. She offered Korra a grateful smile, one that made the latter timid again. “To answer your question…”

It was draining, going over the matter of her visions again, for what was now the seventh time. As they moved towards the Entrance Hall, Korra told Asami everything, from the content of her visions to the trio’s theory regarding Amon’s connection with her. When she finished, Asami was as white as a sheet.

After a long silence—

“And you’re sure Amon doesn’t know that we’re coming tonight?” she asked shakily.

“I’m not.”

“How do you know it’s not a trap?”

“I don’t.”

Asami looked stricken.

Korra paused, glanced at Asami.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Korra said gently. “I know this must be terrifying for you… _especially_ for you.”

Asami appraised Korra wearily.

“You’re still going to go even if I don’t, aren’t you?”

Korra nodded.

Asami sighed. “Then I’m coming.” When Korra opened her mouth to protest— “You wouldn’t even know where to go if I didn’t come. Besides, this is way more dangerous for you than it is for me. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

The way Asami was looking at her—adamant, eyes hardened with resolve—made something stir inside Korra, something unfathomable and entirely unknown.

Korra cleared her throat. “T-thanks.”

She made to continue—

“Whoa, where are you going?” Asami demanded, grabbing Korra by her sleeve.

(They were just a few minutes away from the Entrance Hall.)

Korra glanced at her in bewilderment. “Outside?”

Asami stared at her in disbelief. “Please tell me you weren’t planning on just waltzing out the front door.”

Korra paused—hung her head sheepishly.

Asami sighed again. “I knew you would. C’mon, I know a better way.”

Korra trailed after Asami in embarrassment.

She didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned by the heiress’s knowledge of the Hogwarts castle, and, apparently, a secret passage. Then again, Mako, Wing, and Wei knew several, so perhaps Korra only had her own lack of exploration to blame.

Asami lead Korra to the fourth floor, and stopped promptly before a mirror. Thoroughly puzzled, Korra glanced between it and Asami. With a deep breath, Asami drew her wand, muttered something under her breath, and then—

Korra’s jaw dropped as the mirror swung forward noiselessly to reveal a dimly-lit passageway, wide enough for a small gathering. Asami grinned at the look on Korra’s face.

“Wait,” Korra cautioned before Asami could enter the tunnel.

Bemused, Asami glanced back.

Korra shrugged out of her robes and draped them over Asami’s shoulders.

 _It suits her,_ Korra thought absentmindedly.

Despite the discord of the overall outfit, Asami did look rather becoming in a prefect badge.

Asami stared.

“Err, it’s cold—and you’re not wearing clothes,” Korra explained lamely.

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“I mean—you are—but they’re not…y’know…”

Asami’s lips twitched. Clearly amused by Korra’s rationalization, she looked away, trying to hide her laughter.

Cheeks burning, Korra lit her wand and clambered into the passageway with utmost haste.

“C-C’mon,” she stuttered without looking back.

(The journey through the tunnel was uneventful.)

They emerged on the other side—to Korra’s disbelief—

“Is this how you got to and from Hogsmeade so fast?” she inquired when she’d found her voice.

Asami nodded, a note of shame on her face.

It was now well-past ten—Hogsmeade was still, streets abandoned. However, Korra suspected this had more to do with the recent attack than the time; even a month ago, the streets would still be bustling with life at this hour. The lanterns along High Street, once warm, inviting, now cast the virtually deserted village in an eerie glow. The sight made Korra’s heart ache.

“What did you see in your vision?” Asami changed the subject as she gestured for Korra to follow.

“Here’s the thing—I couldn’t really see much. It was too dark…I heard them talking though. Amon was telling your dad that he needed to find ‘it’—the thing he and Tarrlok are after, I’m guessing—now. I don’t know what ‘it’ is, though,” Korra added dismally.

Asami grimaced. “Well…whatever it is, maybe we’ll find out tonight. We’re here.”

Korra gazed at the structure before them. It was the same one she’d been stationed outside almost a month ago: a slight, wooden shack. There was no way of discerning what was happening inside—but that was fortunate, as there was no way for its inhabitants to detect outside activity, either. Nevertheless, the shack wasn’t soundproof—hardly—for Korra could hear muffled voices within.

Korra and Asami were still standing several yards away.

Neither had to speak to recognize the other’s trepidation; it was a mutual sentiment.

Slowly, hesitantly, Korra held out her hand.

“The windows are boarded, so they probably won’t notice if we’re quiet,” she whispered.

Asami glanced down at her outstretched hand, and then back at Korra. When Korra offered a tight smile, imbued with a sort of resigned perseverance, the heiress accepted it.

(Korra found herself immediately revitalized by Asami’s touch.)

Gradually, the pair crept towards the shack. It was a lot of swiping at darkness, a lot of fumbling and faltering; they couldn’t see the path before them—the shack was too far away from the main road for the light to reach it—which meant there was no protection against sudden sounds.

When they arrived at the base of it, the girls nodded at each other, and crouched just below one of the boarded windows.

For a moment, silence.

All Korra could hear was Asami breathing beside her. (That, and the sound of her own heart hammering against her chest.)

Then—

“…It’s been three months, Sato. I’ve seen no results.”

Amon’s voice sent a chill through Korra. She’d heard it several times before—time and time again in her visions, in Asami’s memories—but never so close; it was like gravel being dragged across needles.

For the first time since this affair had begun, there was now but a sliver of wood standing between Korra and her demise.

She wanted to vomit.

“How long do you expect me to wait? At this rate, they’ll extinguish the movement altogether. I need it _now_.”

Then came Hiroshi’s voice—

“I-I’m sorry, Amon. I’ve been trying, but it’s more difficult than you think…the staff here watch her like a hawk, and with so much public attention on me and my daughter, we can’t act rashly. You know she’s under the Order’s protection—”

Korra and Asami exchanged a glance.

‘The Order?’ Korra mouthed.

Asami frowned, as if to say, ‘I don’t know.’

“I sent you and Viper _specifically_ to root her out from under their protection!” Amon snapped irately. Korra’s heart was in her throat. A pause. An exasperated sigh. “Please tell me you know where they’re keeping the stone, at least.”

Korra froze.

_Stone?_

She glanced at Asami, who was gazing back at her with the same expression.

‘What stone?’

A lapse in conversation—Korra imagined Hiroshi nodding frantically.

“Y-yes. They’re keeping it on the third floor.”

Korra almost shrieked with excitement. Of course! The forbidden floor—the floor only professors were allowed to patrol! It fell together too perfectly, too easily, like redoing a puzzle one had already solved. Korra wanted to rush to it now—

“But it’s riddled with protections and enchantments—I can’t get past them on my own. We need the Chosen One.”

“ _Of course_ , we need the Chosen One, you fool!” Amon hissed. “Even if we were to get to it ourselves, we need—”

It happened in slow motion.

Korra had crawled forward, pressed up against the shack in an attempt to hear more clearly; she was still holding Asami’s hand, hadn’t warned her—

Asami’s foot slipped, her hand flew out in an attempt to stop herself from falling, collided with the side of the shack—

_Thud!_

The silence that followed was deafening.

“What—?”

Korra had begun sprinting before Amon could finish his sentence.

Asami was stumbling after her, still disoriented, Korra’s vice-like grip on her hand serving as her only sense of direction. When Asami gathered her wits, it was Korra who was being dragged in tow.

They ran without pause, racing through the streets of Hogsmeade until they were safely back inside the passageway, sewer grill tightly shut.

Both girls collapsed onto all fours, panting heavily.

Korra’s heart felt as though it was about to burst out of her chest. She didn’t know whether it was the physical exertion or epinephrine coursing through her veins—perhaps some combination of the two—and wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow her altogether.

(She’d never been more grateful for the strange shack’s lack of windows and doors, for she’d never stood so close to realizing her worst fear.)

When Korra had caught her breath—or at least, enough to speak—she gasped, “We need to keep moving. I don’t think they’ll give up that easily.”

Asami nodded.

They got to their feet shakily. Korra was in much worse shape, still weak from her prior injuries; the physical exertion was making her see spots, and she quickly found herself back on the ground.

“I should’ve never let you go,” Asami groaned when she saw the condition Korra was in. She moved to kneel beside her, rubbing her back gently. “Just wait until you feel ready. There’s no point in trying to go anywhere like this.”

Reluctantly, Korra had to agree.

At last, when she could breathe evenly, she allowed Asami to wrap an arm around her waist and guide her back towards Hogwarts. Despite her slender build, Asami’s training had obviously lent her a great deal of strength, for she was supporting most of Korra’s weight as though it were nothing.

After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived behind the fourth-floor mirror. Asami released Korra momentarily to unseal the entrance, before helping the latter through the opening.

Korra was about to offer Asami a hand when she heard a familiar rattling approaching.

There was only one person in the castle who had a prosthetic leg.

 _Shit!_  

Korra promptly shoved Asami back into the passageway.

“Korra, what—"

Korra drew her wand and replaced the mirror just in time—

Toza limped around the corner, his metal leg clinking against the marble floor. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Korra, who’d just stowed her wand in time, slinking away from the mirror.

“You! What are you doing up past curfew?” Toza barked.

‘Patrolling,’ Korra was about to reply, when she realized Asami still had her badge.

_FUCK!_

“Err…”

“Detention!” Toza snarled.

Korra flinched, then sighed in acquiescence.

She had no choice but to accept it; were she to dispute it, any of the professors could easily look up her patrol schedule and deduce she was not, in fact, on duty that night.

“Yes, sir,” Korra mumbled forlornly. She hesitated, and then chanced, “With Bumi?”

Toza’s lip curled. “No, you little delinquent. With the headmaster.”

Korra balked.

_Great. Raiko is the last person I need on my case about this. He’s probably just going to go tell his best friend and wallet…_

“Can’t I postpone it until after Christmas break?” Korra pleaded. “Err—exams are coming up. I-I need to focus on those first.”

_And by exams, I mean disposing Hiroshi Sato._

Toza glared at Korra as though she’d suggested skipping through a meadow together.

“Please, sir?”

Korra’s voice was still trembling from her earlier exertion. Toza’s glower wavered.

He huffed. “Fine. Go straight to your Common Room. If I hear about you again tonight, detention will be the least of your worries.”

“Yes, sir.”

Korra waited until the caretaker had lumbered around the corner before opening the passageway for Asami.

She was promptly met with a guilt-ridden expression.

“I should’ve gotten detention, too,” Asami protested as Korra helped her clamber out. “That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s fine,” Korra replied, accepting her robes back. The prefect badge pinned to her chest had never felt so prickly. “The last thing we need is for you to be in hot water with your dad’s puppet.”

Asami hesitated, then, unable to deny the logic in Korra’s reasoning, nodded unenthusiastically.

“I’m still sorry,” she muttered, glancing sideways at Korra.

Korra shook her head. “Don’t be. If anything…” she sighed. “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

_Way overdue._

Asami looked stunned speechless. Her lips were parted in shock.

Korra rubbed her shoulder sorely.

“For not believing you,” she pressed on. “For accusing you of something you obviously never wanted to do—would never actually do.”

Silence.

Asami blinked rapidly.

The apology fell short of what Asami deserved—of what Korra really wanted to say. There was a swirling, unintelligible mass of sentiments, jumbled, confused, stuck in her throat, and Korra lacked the articulacy to convey even a fraction of it adequately. Asami deserved more than two mumbled sentences, and Korra was the fool who could barely deliver just that.

However, Asami didn’t seem as affronted by Korra’s shortcomings as Korra was. She was gazing at Korra unfathomably.

Finally, she murmured, “I don’t know if I can blame you for that.”

Korra frowned. “I…” she lowered her eyes and exhaled shakily, “I didn’t even hear you out. You deserved that, at the very least.”

Asami said nothing. She was looking at Korra in an odd way. Occasionally, she would gaze down at her hands (engaged in their usual habit), and then peek back at Korra.

“Do you trust me?” Asami asked at last.

Korra hesitated.

She thought of every sacrifice Asami had made for _her_ benefit, not knowing whether or not Korra would embrace her, let alone accept the sacrifice itself, at her own expense. She thought of Asami, always patient, always willing to meet her halfway—more than halfway.

“I…I think so,” Korra answered honestly. “I’m…starting to, at least.”

Asami’s smile was like the coming of dawn, a crack against the night, painting the sky a brilliant rose.

“Then that’s more than enough.”

(Korra couldn’t breathe.)

She cleared her throat.

“Err, anyway…about—about what we just saw…you know we have to tell someone, right?” Korra began uncomfortably.

(She was talking to the ceiling again.)

Asami’s smile faded. She looked down.

After a silence that stretched just beyond bearable, in a very, very, very low voice, Asami answered, “I know.”

Korra almost wanted to take it back.

Steeling herself, she continued, “I, err…I’ll go to Tenzin and Lin myself. It could be dangerous if you come—Tenzin might…y’know. And Lin is already…”

Asami nodded despondently. 

Korra didn’t (or at least, didn’t want to) doubt Asami’s allegiance; she’d demonstrated her loyalty over and over and over again. But having to betray one’s parent, no matter how poor the relationship was, couldn’t have been a pleasant feeling.

“C’mon. I’ll walk you back,” Korra said when she recognized that Asami wouldn’t say anything more. The heiress trailed after her.

They didn’t talk again after that. 

 

* * *

 

The following day, Korra and Asami walked to class together for the first time in a month.

“Wow, Miss Popular finally has time for us?” Wei teased when he caught sight of the pair.

(There was no other reasonable explanation that would excuse Asami’s absence.)

“Wow, you’re sitting next to us, too?” Wing chimed in, covering his mouth in mock-surprise as Korra and Asami took their seats.

“Shut up,” Korra advised.

Asami, on the other hand, laughed.

“Actually, your friend here finally made time for me,” she retorted with a cheeky grin.

_I guess I deserve that._

The twins turned on Korra.

“Korra of the Southern Wizarding Tribe, have you been bullying Asami?” Wei demanded in an obnoxious tone.

“Unacceptable, Korra, unacceptable!” Wing mimicked Tenzin (it was something he’d said to her frequently when she was still in ordinary Charms classes).

Korra groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Asami was having the time of her life.

Then, Hiroshi walked into the classroom, and the joviality died out immediately.

Both Korra and Asami stiffened.

The twins hadn’t noticed (“Prefect abuse!”).

Fortunately, save for an eyebrow raised in their direction, Hiroshi busied himself with preparing for the day’s lesson without any further antagonism.

In the midst of the twins’ relentless ridicule, Korra tore off a scrap of parchment and scribbled something down. After affirming that Hiroshi’s attention was elsewhere, she passed it to Asami under the table. The latter accepted it with a perplexed expression.

_‘I’m going to Tenzin and Lin right after classes are over today.’_

Asami’s expression grew solemn. She nodded grimly before waving her wand over the parchment. Its contents vanished.

As usual, Wing had taken notice.

“Ooo, are you two passing notes?” he cooed from Korra’s right.

“Is it, by chance, a confession?” Wei gasped.

“Korra fancies Asami!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—”

Korra didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“All right, settle down! Get your cauldrons out,” Hiroshi ordered, seemingly more irritable than usual.

The trio’s faces soured (Asami didn’t seem entirely mentally present), but they complied, anyway.

“We’ll be brewing a new potion today—”

Just as the clock struck nine, McNamara limped into class.

Wei immediately leapt to his feet.

Hiroshi raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Mr. Beifong?”

The class started giggling.

Wei sat back down at once, very red in the face. Wing gave him a knowing smile. Korra was puzzled.

The rest of class proceeded without any such excitement.

For once, Korra did her best to keep her head down in class. She refused to make eye contact with Hiroshi, refused to humor any of his taunts; she couldn’t risk it now. (Fortunately, Wei was too mortified by his earlier blunder to engage in any disorderly behavior.)

“All right, that’s it for today,” Hiroshi concluded, again, in a strangely agitated voice. “Your exam will be this Friday. Do your best to prepare—there won’t be any makeup exams for any reason.” His gaze lingered on Korra as he said this.

It required a herculean amount of effort to not roll her eyes.

“You lot go on ahead without me,” Korra said once they’d exited the classroom. “I need to do something.”

She was met with three bemused expressions.

“Private,” Korra added, slightly annoyed when her friends didn’t move.

They glanced at each other quizzically, but after a few moments, relented, and wished her farewell. Korra waited until they’d disappeared around the corner to trudge back towards the dungeon.

After a decade (a few minutes), McNamara emerged from the classroom. He was limping very slowly, but even so, he seemed to not notice Korra; he passed her without sparing a glance, trailing behind the rest of their classmates.

(Korra couldn’t blame him—they’d never really spoken before.)

“McNamara!” she called, jogging after him. “McNam—I mean, err…Finn?”

McNamara—Finn—paused. He turned to gaze at Korra inquisitively.

Korra wasn’t quite sure what to do when she’d caught up to him. He was impossibly tall—taller than Mako—and gazing down at her with a completely baffled expression that only made the task ahead of her more daunting. (She was glad the corridor was empty.)

“Err...thanks,” Korra began lamely. Finn continued gazing at her uncertainly. “For what you did. Err, at the match.” Comprehension dawned on his face. He relaxed, adjusted the strap of his satchel, but remained silent. “That was…”

Korra was at a loss for words—wasn’t sure how to go about this, and was losing confidence as she went. Asami was her first new friend in a long time, and that had required very little effort on Korra’s part.

Korra cleared her throat. “I mean, you didn’t have to do that.”

This finally roused a reaction out of Finn.

He snorted. “‘Course I did. What, was I just supposed to let you die?”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean…yeah, all right, I suppose. But still. I…err…I appreciate it.”

Finn nodded. (His expression wasn’t unkind.)

He paused, shifted his weight.

“I heard what you did at Hogsmeade,” he said at last. There was a distinct note of admiration in his voice. “Fighting an Equalist one-on-one. That was pretty bold of you.”

Korra blinked.

_Oh, actually that was my friend—who’s an Equalist by the way, but she’s on our side now—I think. She wasn’t going to hurt me, anyway; I could never actually take her in a fight._

What she said was—

“Aren’t you a muggle-born?”

Finn nodded again. “I am. But Amon’s giving us a bad name.” He paused, tilted his head at Korra; there was a trace of warmth there. “And I think you get that better than most purebloods.”

Korra smiled at Finn, for perhaps the first time in the six years they’d attended school together.

“You’re all right, y’know?”

Finn smiled back.

“You too.”

 

* * *

 

“Asami, are you…sure you’re all right?”

Asami glanced at the door behind Korra.

“Honestly…I don’t know.” The heiress breathed deeply. When she met Korra’s gaze again, there was a steel in Asami’s eyes Korra had never seen before. “But I’m with you.”

Korra nodded gravely.

“I’m going to give them the memory Jinora gave me. I don’t know when or how we’ll proceed, but—” she glanced sideways at Asami “—maybe it’s safer if you’re not…alone.”

Asami was as astute as ever.

“Do you want me to go find Mako and Bolin?”

Korra nodded again.

“Go find them and stay with them until I come get you. I don’t want…” she trailed off, realizing the weight of the unfinished statement—that it was—that _this_ was—no longer just an abstract idea but a very unfortunate reality in which Korra was jeopardizing not only her own safety but Asami’s.

It hit her like a brick, and Korra felt herself waver.

Asami took notice.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly. Korra didn’t feel any better. Asami smiled tightly, reached out to squeeze Korra’s hand. “I’ll stay with Mako and Bolin until you come find me. Okay? We can—” Asami’s voice cracked “—we can…think about the rest later.”

Korra hesitated.

Asami, pretty Asami, who was gazing at her so woefully, like Korra was the one who had something to lose, like Korra wasn’t about to entirely eradicate her very reason for being.

Finally, Korra nodded in agreement, and released Asami’s hand.

(Part of her desperately wanted to hold on.)

“Should I tell them anything?” Asami pressed after a moment. “Err—about what you’re doing now, I mean.”

Korra deliberated this with a frown.

“Not…not unless you absolutely have to,” she said at last. “Only if it…becomes necessary.”

Korra didn’t have to elaborate. Asami understood; the comprehension was accompanied by a look of immense distress.

“Go,” Korra urged when Asami lingered, gazing at her uneasily.

A full minute passed before Asami finally began to withdraw. She backed away slowly, eyes trained on Korra—as though she wanted to memorize her face, as though this might be the last time she saw her. She said nothing, but somehow, that was more insufferable than anything.

Korra stood there for several moments after Asami had left.

There was more hesitation somewhere, at the back of her mind. Perhaps she was being too rash—perhaps she was acting too hastily. Perhaps she _should_ tell Mako and Bolin, whom she’d deserted in favor of informing Asami…

 _No, there’s no time for that now,_ Korra told herself. _Whatever this is, I don’t want to get them involved too…_

Still haunted by the look on Asami’s face, Korra turned to the door behind her.

She only had to knock once.

“Sorry, I’m in a meeting—” Tenzin stopped talking abruptly when he realized it was Korra. He blinked.

Then, with a surreptitious glance around the corridor (empty), Tenzin opened the door a little wider. Lin was standing by his desk, arms folded, expression as stony as ever.

However, there was a very discernible glint of distress in her eyes that left Korra unsettled.

“Can it wait?” Tenzin asked wearily.

It almost sounded like a rhetorical question—it probably was, considering he’d taken one look at Korra’s face and sighed. He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter his office.

“What is it, kid?” Lin demanded impatiently.

Korra waited until Tenzin had shut the door to reveal the vial.

Both Tenzin and Lin’s eyes widened.

Lin recovered first.

“A memory?” she inquired.

“Jinora’s,” Korra supplied.

(Tenzin’s astonishment was only amplified.)

Lin blinked and then shook her head.

“That kid is way too sharp. Anyway—” she gestured to the vial with her chin and then raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Korra sighed.

_Here goes nothing._

“Hiroshi Sato jinxed my broomstick. Jinora saw. And probably the Bludger, too—but, I don’t have proof for that.”

Lin’s expression didn’t change—Korra had expected as much—but she was startled to find Tenzin equally as unsurprised. He and Lin exchanged a glance.

“Fortunate timing,” Tenzin remarked, approaching his desk. He leaned down and opened one of the drawers to produce a scrap of parchment, then handed it to Korra.

She stared.

_‘Meet me in the Room of Requirement thirty minutes to curfew. I have important evidence regarding a potential Equalist conspirator.’_

“A student left this for me earlier today,” Tenzin explained, studying Korra intently.

The question was obvious, even if he didn’t ask it.

“It wasn’t Asami,” Korra said immediately. “She doesn’t have Charms today.”

( _And that’s not her handwriting._ But that was a weak argument.)

Lin raised an eyebrow. “You sure? She’s good with potions. She could’ve whipped up some Polyjuice.”

Korra’s grip tightened on her bookbag. It took every fiber of her being to contain herself.

“No, I was with her all day today.”

_Besides the classes we don’t have together..._

Lin’s expression was telling—she suspected as much.

Korra’s jaw clenched; she fought to unclench it. “When did they leave the note?”

“My last class,” Tenzin answered.

Korra relaxed. “I just walked with her from Care of Magical Creatures.”

Tenzin was willing to accept this reasoning; Lin was more reluctant.

“Fine. But if anything goes wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she carped, as grouchy as ever.

Korra nodded—and then frowned.

“‘If anything goes wrong’?” she repeated. Tenzin and Lin gazed at her wordlessly. Korra’s eyes widened. “You’re not—you’re not thinking of actually _going_ , are you?”

_There is no way this isn’t a trap._

“It’s the only lead we have,” Tenzin retorted grimly.

“But—the memory—”

“It can be argued as circumstantial,” Lin cut Korra off. “Even if he was trying to jinx you or hurt you—why specifically you? What ties does that have to him being an Equalist? It only proves that he has criminal intent, nothing about his allegiance.”

Korra’s finger, which had been raised in protest, drooped.

_She’s not wrong…and the proof I have would expose Asami, too…. And whether they’ll entertain it or not, I have a feeling exposing my status as the ‘Chosen One’ to the wizarding world would just put a target on my back._

Korra’s shoulders slumped for a moment—then they were squared, and she was gazing resolutely at Lin.

“Then I’m coming, too.”

“What? No—” Lin began but Tenzin raised a hand. Lin turned on him furiously. “You can’t be serious. She’s not even _of_ _age_.”

“I know.” Tenzin exhaled deeply. “But you know how she is.”

Essentially: ‘If we try to stop her, it’s just going to blow up in our faces.’

Korra’s eyes darted between the two eagerly.

Tenzin glanced at Korra. “I’d rather have you under our protection than trying to launch some sort of vigilante mission with your friends.”

There was something there—had he seen? Korra’s memories were susceptible during their Occlumency lessons.

If Tenzin knew about the trio’s research, he said nothing, expression unfathomable. “Are you sure you’ll be all right? It’s only been a day since you’ve been discharged.”

Korra thought about her episode last night. Steeled herself, blocked her thoughts.

“Yes,” she lied.

_I have to go. I can’t let them risk their lives because of me._

Neither Tenzin or Lin looked convinced.

Still—

“All right,” they conceded in unison.

Korra ignored the concern on their faces. (She had to.)

“She _is_ the most gifted student I’ve had in ages,” Lin added (though she sounded disgruntled by this knowledge).

Tenzin nodded absentmindedly and then closed his eyes. He breathed out through his mouth, as though mentally preparing himself for something he’d never truly be ready for.

“I’ll go get us something from the kitchens,” he said.

“I’ll drop your things off at the Common Room,” Lin said at the same time, holding her hand out for Korra’s bookbag.

“Wait here,” they chorused.

Korra obliged, watched them go with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

It was evening now—just an hour from the designated meeting time.

She turned to gaze out the window as she waited for them to return.

It was a full moon tonight.


	16. Full Moon

“Do you know what the student looks like?” Lin demanded.

They were early.

(The trepidation was nearly palpable.)

Korra noted (grimly) that, despite Lin’s commanding demeanor, there was an unmistakable note of apprehension in her voice.

“I’m not entirely certain, but I believe it was a Hufflepuff,” Tenzin replied, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. The sight was disconcerting; he had very few unrefined habits. “In his fifth year. Based on the class he was in, that is.” He also never spoke in fragments.

Lin nodded.

(She looked as though she’d barely heard him.)

Meanwhile, Korra’s mind was racing.

_A Hufflepuff in his fifth year? There’s only five…it obviously isn’t Bolin…but—_

At last, a boy Korra had never seen before wandered into the corridor. There was something disturbingly unfamiliar about him, something too mundane about his features; his hair, his eye color, his stature—all unnervingly common, generic—impossible to place in a crowd. He was looking all about, as if terrified of being caught.

“You came alone? You’re breaking protocol,” Lin snapped.

The boy jumped.

His eyes darted between Lin and Tenzin, and then found Korra. His gaze lingered there for a fraction of a second longer than the other two. Korra didn’t know what to think.

_Should I be concerned?_

Tenzin’s estimate had been accurate; atop his robes, the boy was sporting a yellow and black scarf.

“S-sorry,” he stammered finally. Korra had never heard his voice, either—though perhaps that could be attributed to being in different years. “I didn’t think I s-should bring anyone with me f-for what I wanted to s-show you.”

Tenzin raised an eyebrow.

“And what is that, exactly?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder before scurrying forward. He stopped just before them, gaze resting on Korra, again, a moment longer than necessary.

There was something there the second time—a sentiment Korra felt she’d been on the receiving end of before—but it faded too quickly for her to identify it.

Her hand was resting on her wand.

“I s-saw Hiroshi Sato go in there,” the boy began shakily. He was pointing behind them, at a seemingly blank wall. “I-I followed him in there y-yesterday. He was t-taking a long time.”

Korra had heard of the Room of Requirement. She’d never been, but Mako had told her about a mysterious room on the seventh floor that materialized before those who sought it; it only appeared in times of dire need—otherwise, virtually nonexistent. Only magic could explain its vacillation between realms of reality.

Apparently, Tenzin and Lin were more than familiar with it.

“And how does that prove he’s an Equalist?” Lin probed impatiently.

The boy gulped. He was jittery now, eyes growing more frantic by the second. “He had all sorts of equipment in there—Equalist uniforms, special muggle technology that’d been enchanted, Satobrooms that’d been modified—”

“And you saw all this, without him seeing you?” Lin cut him off.

Korra was equally as skeptical.

_We should just leave. This is taking too long—and his story is way too convenient—_

Then, the boy wagged his head. There was a look of fear in his eyes that was telling—an urgency Korra had seen time and time again, on the face of anyone who’d crossed paths with the Equalists.

“H-he saw me. T-that’s why I came to find you. He said I…” the boy choked, clenched his fists at his sides, “…he said I won’t be coming back after Christmas break.” When he met their eyes again, his were trembling, beseeching. “I-I’m a m-muggle-born. N-nobody would suspect anything. I-I…I didn’t t-think h-he’d get upset w-with _me_ but…he s-said won’t stop for a-anyone until h-he realizes his g-g-goal…”

_And by that, he means getting rid of me._

Korra felt absurd with sympathy. She knew, and judging by the looks on Tenzin and Lin’s faces, they also knew, that their benevolence would get them killed. She knew, as did they, that there was little distinguishing this stranger’s story from a fabrication, little chance that this encounter would have any meaningful consequences—any in their favor, at least.

But, with one look (a prying one, to Korra’s chagrin) at the steel in their gazes, Korra knew their minds were made up.

It was an unspoken agreement: There was a slim chance, but it was still a chance.

“Lead the way,” Tenzin said at last, drawing his wand.

Korra and Lin mirrored him, and stepped aside to allow the boy to pass. As he did, Korra felt a chill pass over her; she’d never met him, and yet, there was something there—something familiar, unkind, cold, scathing—

The boy’s face screwed up in concentration, and with a deep breath, he reached out and touched the wall. Then, he started pacing, making a small lap of sorts, and repeated the action three times.

Whether it was the rush of dread or the immense, insufferable psychological torment of it all, Korra was intoxicated. There was something mesmerizing in the way his fingertips glided along the wall, something beckoning, something that made her want to wait and see what would happen, like a mindless bystander.

(There was something familiar about this sensation—not something she’d experienced herself but observed once, sometime, somewhere…)

Sure enough, a few moments later, an ornate door materialized in place of the bare wall.

The boy glimpsed back at them uncertainly.

When Tenzin nodded, the boy gave the brass handle a shove, and the door swung open.

 _Something’s wrong,_ Korra thought immediately.

It wasn’t that the boy had lied—not entirely, at least. The room that was waiting for them was, in fact, filled with Equalist supplies: uniforms, Satobrooms, enchanted muggle technology, machinery, long, draping tapestries of Amon.

It was that the boy had entered behind them—that, like fools, eager in their rush to unearth the evidence they so desperately sought, Tenzin, Lin, and Korra had bumbled in with their backs turned to the stranger behind them.

Lin caught on at the same time as Korra.

She turned her head slightly to call over her shoulder, “What did you say your name was, again?”

But it wasn’t the boy who answered.

“Dare I say, _Candide_?” 

The door vanished—and just as abruptly—the boy drew his wand—

_"Stupefy!”_

_“Protego!”_

Scarlet rebounded back towards the boy, who threw himself sideways—

“I see your reflexes are still sharp, Lin,” Hiroshi chuckled, stepping forward into the light. “I’ve heard a lot about your career as the esteemed Head of Magical Law Enforcement.” His eyes hardened. “If only that were enough.”

Initially, while taken aback, Korra hadn’t been too concerned by the caliber of their opponents; the three of them were more than a match for a disguised Equalist and a broomstick manufacturer.

Then, she realized.

One by one, limp uniforms came to life—two, three, tens, dozens—until they were entirely surrounded by Equalists.

_Fuck…I expected something, but not…this…_

Hiroshi smirked at them, with fire in his eyes, shadows gaunt against his brow.

Korra fervently regretted not informing Tenzin and Lin, Iroh—someone, at least—of the hidden passage Asami had revealed to her—of all the intelligence Asami had imparted on her.

She had little time to dwell on her shortcomings.

“Seize them!”

Korra had never been more grateful for Mako’s grueling Quidditch practices. She parried left—right—dodged a well-aimed curse and sent one back in return—two, three, at random—

Abruptly, the Equalists attacking Korra averted their attention elsewhere, unwilling to interfere—

For Hiroshi Sato had a singular objective, and Korra was the prize.

“Holy shit!”

Hiroshi sent curse after curse at her, displaying impressive stamina and agility for someone of his age and stature. Korra could barely keep up, and somewhere, at the back of her mind, she was reminded of Asami; like his daughter, Hiroshi fought nonverbally, and that left Korra more handicapped than usual—

_CRACK._

“AGH!”

Korra collapsed onto one knee, legs still feeble from last week’s incident. She fumbled for her wand urgently—

But Hiroshi didn’t take advantage of her infirmity. Instead, he approached her slowly, like a lion stalking his prey; around them, the jungle burned, and yet, Hiroshi only had eyes for Korra. He stopped just before her, smirking down at her malevolently.

“I’ve been waiting ten years for this moment,” Hiroshi growled, voice guttural with emotion.

He refused to lower himself, so that Korra had to crane her neck to look up at him; perhaps that was what he’d wanted, for his lips twitched in cruel amusement, as though he derived great pleasure from watching his nemesis kneel. There was unrestrained, inexorable loathing in Hiroshi’s gaze as he glowered at Korra, intensified by the amber of his irises, like suppressed flames that had at last been allowed to burn free.

Then, his eyes went cold.

“I’m going to make you suffer the same fate as my wife.”

Asami hadn’t been exaggerating.

Mako was the only fire mage Korra had ever encountered—and of course, never on malignant terms—but he was still a novice. His spells weren’t too different from anything Korra could conjure herself using a Fire-Making Spell. Hiroshi’s skill, on the other hand, far outmatched any elemental magic she could’ve ever conceived.

With a maniacal glint in his eyes, Hiroshi brandished his wand; a burst of flames surged forth—it was like a wildfire, an all-consuming funnel, uncontrolled, scorching, sparking wildly—

Some of its embers caught on the tapestries, and soon, the whole room was up in flames, in the sweltering ardor of Amon’s vision.

Korra stumbled, fell onto her elbows in a futile attempt to evade its path—crawled backwards frantically, tried to call forth her own element—could scarcely remember what it felt like—

Then, Tenzin leapt in front of her, and with ice in his gaze, he spread his arms before him and split the funnel in half.

For a moment, Korra was disoriented enough to believe Tenzin had cast some type of fire charm.

But there was no mistaking the blast of wind—the gale erupting from the tip of his wand, fueled by his aura, as if it were being summoned from his very core.

“YOU CAN DO ELEMENTAL MAGIC?” Korra hollered.

“Not the time!” Lin barked from the other side of the room before hurling an array of rocks at a trio of unsuspecting Equalists.

Korra’s jaw dropped.

“YOU TOO?”

“Korra, I urge you to focus,” Tenzin advised through gritted teeth as he sent another gust of wind at Hiroshi.

“Right, right, sorry,” Korra mumbled.

With Tenzin effectively distracting Hiroshi (for the time being), she turned her sights on another Equalist. They were evenly matched, regrettably, due to Korra’s lingering debility.

_God dammit, Lin and Tenzin have to fight three or four at a time and I can barely handle one…Where’s that Chosen One magic when I need it?_

There was no rush of power this time—no red in her vision, no inexplicable explosion of elemental magic—

_Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

_“Reducto!”_ Korra cried, finally finding an opening.

Fortunately, her opponent wasn’t nimble enough to dodge the spell, and went down like a domino. In his place, rose two more. They weren’t quite as well-versed in combative magic as her, and this would’ve worked in her favor—

But Korra was still weak.

“Ugh,” she groaned, crumpling to her knees as her vision went black.

She was conscious, but barely, an icy numbness sweeping over her; her head was ringing, and it was only her violently trembling hands that kept her from hitting the floor outright. Her wand—it must’ve rolled away somewhere—she couldn’t feel it—couldn’t see it—

The blow Korra was waiting for never came. Instead, she heard two yelps, followed by a huff of disapproval.

“I told you we shouldn’t have let her come,” Lin grouched from somewhere (beside her?).

There was a hand on her shoulder, just for a moment—

“NO!”

(Tenzin?)

Lin was gone—Korra could hardly see—

“Then there was one,” Hiroshi cackled in the distance. “Let’s see how the famed son of Aang the _Chosen_ —” his voice grew bitter, laced with venom “—fares on his own.”

Some explosions in the distance—grunts of pain—some of them were Tenzin’s…

Breathing became easier, and Korra found her vision returning to her gradually, pins and needles in her sides. Her fingers curled against the marble floor.

_Get up, get up…_

CRACK.

“Argh—” Hiroshi “—what?”

Korra lifted her head. Lin was back on her feet, wand extended in front of her in a powerful display of earth magic.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she declared.

However, Lin was leaning to one side, Korra noticed with a heavy heart. And Tenzin—Tenzin was barely standing, breathing unevenly; his lip was split severely, and one eye was swollen beyond recognition.

_No, no, no…this is all my fault…_

They’d done considerable damage to the goods in the room—which, Korra wasn’t sure was entirely favorable, considering their actual mission was to gather these items—and defeated roughly half of their opponents. But those who’d persevered were still standing strong, Hiroshi at the forefront, seething like a rabid dog. Meanwhile, Korra had yet to regain feeling in her legs, and Lin and Tenzin were hardly in fighting shape…

Hiroshi’s lip curled.

“We’ll see about that—”

“Yes, we will!”

Hiroshi’s head—and everyone else’s—snapped to the source of the voice—

It was something like watching bowling pins go down. Bolin brought his wand down like a sword, and with it, came an avalanche of boulders, flattening a number of Equalists and sending several others tumbling.

“What—what are you doing here?” Korra rasped, still feeling around for her wand, which was nowhere in sight.

“Rescuing your stupid, impulsive arse,” another voice grumbled.

Mako’s admonishment was accompanied by a torrent of flames—while not as powerful as Hiroshi’s—undoubtedly lethal. His targets howled in anguish, dropping to the floor like flies.

“You shouldn’t be here," Korra tried to warn them.

Regardless of how gifted Mako and Bolin were, they had no chance against seasoned fighters—and certainly not ones that had demolished two of the most renowned wizards in the world.

As she’d suspected, the element of surprise had served the brothers well for the duration of their introduction. The remaining Equalists quickly gathered their wits and drew their weapons again; Hiroshi extinguished Mako’s fire with a disinterested flick of his wand.

“Wait, what—?” Mako spluttered, staggering backwards.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to play with fire,” Hiroshi sneered.

Mako’s jaw clenched when he had identified the culprit behind the interference.

“ _You_ …”

Hiroshi and Mako gazed at each other wordlessly. Despite the chaos, there was a lull in battle; the two men stood at an impossible impasse, Mako, at last, recognizing that the lost intimacy had never been present at all.

There was a sense of disillusionment in his gaze—as though something he’d feared, something he’d suspected, something he’d desperately hoped wasn’t true had, irrevocably, inevitably, come to be.

Korra knew the feeling too well.

Managing to find his voice, Mako hissed, “Showing up at Hogwarts, pretending to be a Potions professor…telling me you were rooting for Gryffindor…letting your daughter join our group of friends—get close to _Korra_ …it was all just a big cover-up.”

Hiroshi chuckled darkly.

“Yes, it was. And the most difficult part?” His face grew callous, rigid with hatred. “Watching my daughter traipse around with a _filthy pureblood_ like _you_.”

Mako flinched, startled by the magnitude of the hostility radiating off Hiroshi (which, of course, he knew nothing of). Then, tightening his grip on his wand, he reassumed a defensive stance; still, his face was wrought with tension, and, Korra knew, fear.

Hiroshi’s face went blank.

“Get rid of the rubbish.”

The Equalists, who’d been waiting for a command like obedient pets, launched themselves at Mako and Bolin—

_No—not them, too—_

The ensuing struggle was short-lived; Mako and Bolin were no match for the Equalists, even with Lin and Tenzin’s help, which was more of a hindrance at this point, given their injuries…

Hiroshi smirked as Korra’s allies fell, one by one, then lowered his gaze to Korra. She tried to stand—failed, miserably—collapsed back onto all fours, breathing heavily. Her head was spinning, but that didn’t stop her from glaring up at Hiroshi.

(It was all she could manage.)

“Not so powerful are you now, _Korra_?” Hiroshi jeered, with a little too much satisfaction. “Cowering behind your friends, kneeling before the Equalists…behold, the _mighty Chosen One_.”

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. His comrades joined in shortly, and Korra was left to fume on the floor, disarmed, useless, surrounded by the ridicule of her foes and the flames of their triumph.

Her arms were growing limp, and her vision was blurry; Mako was trying to get back to his feet, Bolin was trying to help Tenzin up, but he showed no signs of recovery, Lin was coughing up blood…

“So, this is how you fall,” Hiroshi snickered. “I can’t wait to deliver you to Amon myself.”

Then, Hiroshi’s gaze slid up, and his laughter died.

The entire room fell silent.

Behind everyone, before the rematerialized door, stood—

“Asami…” Hiroshi breathed, wand dropping to his side.

Asami stood there motionlessly, taking in the sight before her.

She looked like a lost child, wandering into an argument between parents, seeing something she wasn’t supposed to have seen. The heiress was wearing her Hogwarts uniform, still, was unarmed, still…

 _How long has she been standing there…?_ Korra wondered vaguely.

She couldn’t imagine what Asami must’ve felt—her aspirations from childhood, the consequences of her mission, realized there, before her—a reality she no longer solicited, and, to add insult to injury, her new friends at the mercy of her old allies—

Most importantly, her father—her abuser, her pillar, her whole world—

Hiroshi recovered first.

Slowly, he raised his unarmed hand and held it out to her. There was a substantial distance between them, but the significance of the gesture remained the same.

Everyone waited with bated breath.

_No—_

This was the moment Korra had been trying so desperately to prevent: Bolin, scandalized, Mako, frozen with disbelief, Lin, suspicious, Tenzin, apprehensive—

Finally, with heavy, dragging steps, Asami began crossing the distance between her and her father. It was slow, resigned, and Korra could almost feel the weight of each step—could feel the agony on Asami’s face in her own chest, burgeoning there like an inexorable cancer.

The dichotomy in the room was patent: the Equalists, satisfied, smug, certain, the others, shocked, horrified, disappointed…

But Korra knew—knew, when Asami passed her, gazed down at her, directly, deliberately into her eyes—something that nobody else did.

Asami stopped before her father. She looked down at the floor, at the blood dripping down his arm, and then finally up at him.

After an eternity, with trembling, shaking fingers, Asami took Hiroshi’s hand.

“No…” someone (Mako?) whispered.

There was pain there in Asami’s eyes—an inexplicable, irremediable anguish, guilt, and perhaps even shame—for what she was about to do.

Korra had seen it before it happened.

Her jaw dropped.

“I love you, Dad,” Asami said, in a barely audible voice.

Then, without warning—

Hiroshi hurtled backwards with the sheer force of the curse. He slammed against the wall opposite with a resounding crack—several—the shattering of bones—and fell to the floor in a twisted heap.

Asami lowered her wand.

Everyone was mirroring Korra’s expression.

This time, Korra recovered first. Despite herself, despite everything—she beamed, as bright as day. Something like gratification, something like validation, something tumultuous and overwhelming blossomed in her chest and consumed her like a tidal wave.

Korra had never been more proud of Asami Sato.

The Equalists looked (considering they were masked) stunned beyond belief. They glanced at each other uneasily, as though verifying whether this were all part of some elaborate ruse they hadn’t been briefed on—whether father and daughter had planned this and left them out—

But there was no contriving the look of betrayal on Hiroshi’s face, and the corresponding look of delight on Korra’s.

That was all the confirmation they’d needed.

“G-get her!” one of the Equalist squeaked, pointing timidly at Asami. “I-If we don’t stop her, it’ll be A-Amon next!”

But Asami was a weapon of war, cut from the finest marble, and nobody in the room could hold a candle to her inferno.

A few of the Equalists stumbled forward—

Asami sent them flying with a flick of her wand.

The rest of the Equalists froze, wands lowered in a mixture of dread and awe.

Then, Asami turned on them.

The fire in her eyes—the fire Korra had seen time and time again—roared to life; like her father earlier, she no longer had to suppress it—a wildfire that had finally been allowed to burn free. It was indeed eerily reminiscent of Hiroshi, but unlike him, blinded by the insatiable longing for vengeance, Asami fought to protect.

She raised her wand above her head, and a curtain of ebony flames came down between them—shielding Korra and the others from Asami and the Equalists. The Equalists charged forward—

It was more than evident Asami been holding back when facing Korra. Whether it was an emotional response to the situation or something beyond Korra, Asami attacked mercilessly, with all the ferocity of an unrestrained storm.

Her movements were like lightning; she hardly batted an eye as she sent Equalists barreling across the floor. Curse after curse—it was like a performance. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds—Asami’s training, Asami’s initiation, being thrown back at the very spectators who’d applauded her. Ire, agony, grief—every emotion Asami had been forced to repress, was being unleashed in the form of dark magic unknowable to wizardkind.

One by one, the Equalists fell, victims to a hurricane they’d crafted themselves.

Asami looked like an enraged deity, emerald eyes ablaze, porcelain skin gleaming with sweat, raven locks wild, flowing behind her; she was a storm, her opponents the object of devastation.

Korra watched her, entranced.

As Asami fought, Korra felt something vague, something from another lifetime; something powerful, vicious, unstoppable, something raw and unrefined with the power to destroy armies. It wasn’t unlike when Aang had attempted to contact her, and Korra couldn’t fathom its significance.

(She couldn’t help but wonder if, truly, Asami couldn’t do the very thing she emblemized.)  

At last, the Equalists fled. The ebony flames gave way for their retreat, and they filed out of the rematerialized door, bolting like insects—Hiroshi amongst them, draped across their shoulders—

But not without sparing a final glance back, a haunting look of irreconcilable hurt.

Asami looked away.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

 

* * *

 

In absolutely no condition to pursue their assailants, Korra and the others had, regrettably, been forced to forfeit the capture of Hiroshi Sato.

Instead, they were now gathered in the hospital wing, at the mercy of Pema’s wrath.

“One day—it’s been _one day_ since I discharged Korra and now there’s five of you—and you bring her back in even _worse_ condition—”

“Pema, I can explain—”

“Tenzin—” Korra knew it was serious when Pema didn’t use a pet name for her husband “—I really expected more from you of all people—”

Meanwhile, Lin was discussing something with Suyin, Kya, Iroh, and Bumi behind closed curtains. Obviously, they’d enchanted the curtains, as the intensity of their conversation hardly correlated with the consequent silence. Korra supposed Lin was briefing them on what had happened, what they had to do—and in any other circumstances, she’d want to be part of that conversation.

But right now, she was content to lie in her bed, turned on her side, and talk to Mako, who was also bedridden. If anything, she was grateful that he’d survived such an attack and was cognizant enough to be communicating with her.

“How did you lot know to come find us so quickly?” Korra inquired, prodding the gauze on her arm.

Mako snorted. “Well, Lin came to the Common Room herself to drop off your things. Asami couldn’t exactly lie her way through that. Also, stop that—”

He looked quite uncomfortable with the lack of care Korra treated her injuries. While Korra’s were less severe than Mako’s, given how long she’d lasted in the fight, she was, of course, in a generally worse condition. Mako had sustained some fractures and a few nasty burns along his wand arm, but it was nothing Pema couldn’t heal (once she’d finished chastising her husband).

“Fine,” Korra grumbled. “I guess that was stupid of us.”

“Stupid, but lucky,” Mako countered. “If we hadn’t shown up, you might not even be here right now. Probably drugged and en route to Amon himself.”

Korra winced.

Then, she scoffed. “If _you_ _two_ hadn’t shown up? Please, you lasted less than five minutes. We’re lucky _Asami_ showed up.”

Mako’s face soured, pride wounded. Nevertheless, he acquiesced, begrudgingly, “All right, all right, fine. She did basically save all of our arses in one go.” He huffed. “Bolin and I need to practice our combative magic.”

Korra smirked.

“That’s what I thought. Anyway,” her smile faded, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you two….” She sighed. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”

Mako deadpanned. “Seriously? Did you not hear what I just said?”

Korra lowered her gaze. “I know. But…after everything you two have been through this year because of me, I didn’t—”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Mako yawned. Korra stared. “I told you when we started investigating this whole thing: We’ll figure this out together. Stop trying to play a noble hero—you’re going to get yourself killed, and us along with it. Just tell us.”

Korra bit her lip.

_I guess he’s right…_

“All right, I suppose…” Korra relented. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you two, yet. Stuff I just found out.” _Almost everything Asami told me. The Equalists have a way in and out of Hogwarts. Amon’s looking for something—the same thing Tarrlok is. The_ stone _._ “I…” she stole a glance at Mako, who was gazing at her with his eyebrows poised. “You know you don’t have to help me, right? With…everything. The more you two get involved in this, the more danger you’re in.” 

Mako sat up, leaning on an elbow for support. “Look, you’re right. We’ve been through a lot of shit this year. But…we’re family, right?” A look of hurt crossed his face, as though he suddenly realized Korra might not agree, that that was why she’d intentionally excluded him. When Korra nodded fervently, he relaxed, and continued, “You’re the only family we have left now.” He paused, looked embarrassed. “Err, besides Tu, that is. Anyway…” Mako met Korra’s eyes with the same steel Asami had. “We’d rather go down with you than lose you, too.”

Korra averted her gaze hastily, worried he might notice the rush of emotion to her face. This was so unlike Mako—the stoic, aloof orphan that had a difficult time saying ‘Sorry’ or ‘Thank you.’ But as he’d mentioned, their experiences over the past few months must have granted him a new perspective, like his brother.

_Actually…they’re not the only ones who’ve lost their entire family…_

Korra cleared her throat.

“All right, all right, I hear you. We have a lot of work to do, then, once we get out of here,” she told the ceiling confidently. Mako nodded, content with this resolution.

Then, Korra’s ‘confidence’ faltered, and she didn’t know how to proceed.

“Err, anyway, I haven’t told Tenzin about you guys moving in yet—” she coughed again “—I reckon he knows though, he probably saw it during our Occlumency lessons—I’m sure he’ll be fine with it—” Korra stopped talking when she noticed the way Mako was looking at her. “What?”

He was deadpanning, again.

“Quit stalling.”

Suddenly, Korra was looking anywhere but at him.

“I-I’m not stalling.”

Mako rolled his eyes. “You’re my best friend. I know when you’re stalling.” He tilted his head at the only member of the group who wasn’t hospitalized. “Go talk to her. She needs someone right now.”

Asami was standing beside Bolin’s bed. He was saying something, probably trying to console her, but his words seemed to have little impact; she was leaning against the window, arms crossed tightly over her torso, one hand reaching just beyond her elbow to grip the windowsill for support. She looked like she was trying not to cry.

Asami wasn’t alone, but Korra knew what Mako meant.

‘She needs _you_ right now.’

Korra sighed in resignation.

“Yeah, I know, I just…”

Korra didn’t know how to voice it. It’d been harder to talk to Asami lately. Not because of what had transpired at (and up until) Hogsmeade—that, with today’s actions alone, on top of everything else Asami had done for Korra, had been easily forgiven.

No, there was something foreign, something in Korra’s stomach, something like nervousness that always arose at the prospect of interacting with Asami—especially alone. It was harder to speak, like someone had glued Korra’s tongue to the roof of her mouth, like someone had hexed her into an anxious mess, which made absolutely no sense in relation to interacting with one’s friend. Adding sentimentality to it, which had once been expressed most naturally with Asami and Asami alone, was now excruciating and nearly impossible.

Mako raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Never mind. I’ll—I’ll go do that,” Korra muttered, heart suddenly hammering against her chest.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to Asami, didn’t know what she could possibly say that could reconcile the situation.

The reality was that—she couldn’t.

There was nothing she could say or do that could alleviate the sheer agony of the catastrophe that had taken place.

But Mako was right—Asami needed someone right now, and it had to be Korra.

With lead in her limbs, Korra forced herself out of bed. (In her heated argument with Tenzin, Pema hadn’t noticed.) Casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder (and receiving a pointed glare in return), she sighed again, and began trudging towards Bolin’s bed.

“Tell her…thanks,” Mako added quietly, before Korra got too far. “From me. She…she’s the strongest person I know.”

Korra nodded, both in compliance and in agreement. (She also resisted the urge to roll her eyes—typical Mako, to encourage her to do the things he was too self-conscious to do, and then add his laundry to the pile.) She resumed her trek; in her current condition, it was an excruciating endeavor, one that required all of her energy and focus.

“…Korra said we can move in with her, maybe you can come, too? I’m sure it’ll be fine—Tenzin has a big house with a lot of rooms—”

“Mind if I cut in?” Korra asked timidly.

Bolin stopped speaking promptly. Both he and Asami glanced at Korra, who, for no justifiable reason, raised her hand and waved awkwardly.

Asami nodded subtly at Bolin, who sat up straight.

“Sure! I’ll go cuddle up with Mako,” Bolin dismissed himself cheerfully.

“Please don’t, Korra’s bed is literally empty—” Mako started to protest, but his plea was cut off by a grunt of pain as his younger brother (roughly twice his size) clambered onto him.

To Korra’s relief, there was a ghost of a smile on Asami’s face. It was fleeting, then replaced by the look of unfathomable sorrow that’d been present all night, and she returned her attention to the window.

Korra peeked over Asami’s shoulder, but knew, before confirming, that she wasn’t really looking at anything. The hospital wing was overlooking a bare patch of land, the Paved Courtyard, which was usually brimming with life, but now, in the dead of night, completely deserted.

“How…how are you feeling?” Korra began lamely, leaning against the window in the hope of tempting eye contact.

Her entreaty went unanswered.

Asami exhaled deeply.

“The worst I’ve ever felt,” she confessed in a low voice. “Probably ever.” A beat. “Not ever. But in ten years.”

Fuck. _Right._

Korra nodded sympathetically.

Silence.

“Conflicted…?” she tried, in another attempt to elicit conversation.

Asami grimaced. “Ridiculously.”

More silence.

Korra rubbed the back of her neck.

“You…you did the right thing.”

Apparently, that’d been the wrong thing to say.

Asami finally looked at Korra—no, turned on her, with the wrath of a storm. There was lightning in her eyes, hail in her voice as she snapped, “Easy for you to say.”

Korra recoiled, retreating several steps.

There was steel in Asami’s jaw, where it was clenched so tightly Korra was afraid it would snap.

Asami’s arms tightened around herself and she turned away.

When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the ire in it.

“I have nothing left, now. Everything I’ve ever stood for since I was a child…I threw it all away. My…my comrades. My—” Asami’s voice cracked “—my _father_. Did you see the way he looked at me?”

Korra nodded wordlessly.

There was nothing she could say to that. She could insist that Hiroshi didn’t deserve her, that Asami was better off without him—but it wasn’t her place. Hiroshi was the last living relative Asami had—her only tether to this world, which had abandoned her, hurt her, and accused her in her time of grief. What choice did she have but to seek solace in the arms of an abuser? It was too complicated, too intricate for someone who’d lived as simple and straightforward (though deprived) a life as Korra; too painful and unknowable for someone who’d enjoyed a healthy relationship with both parents at home, with loving surrogate parents abroad, and close friends at school.

Korra had no way of knowing what it was like to live like Asami—to lose her mother before she was old enough to know what loss was, to have ‘comrades’ instead of friends, to have to love and adhere to someone who one would in any other circumstances resent and avoid, to live out of fear in the absence of love, to seek vengeance rather than happiness. Korra knew nothing about Asami Sato, knew nothing of the constant torment she’d lived in—still, lived in—and the immeasurable sacrifices she’d made for strangers she’d known for but a few months. She knew nothing of the Asami Sato who possessed the strength and resilience to choose the right path, even if it left her with nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Korra said at last. Asami gazed at her, eyes red with anger, with tears that refused to fall—and then fell all too eagerly.

“I don’t know that anyone here even trusts me,” Asami continued through gritted teeth; it didn’t seem like a gesture of resentment, rather, a (futile) attempt at quelling her tears. “And there’s no going back. They’re all against me now—my comrades, my father…Amon.” She grimaced again, screwing her eyes shut.

Korra had all but forgotten about Amon—about the inevitable consequences of betraying perhaps the most powerful dark wizard since Ozai. She shivered unpleasantly. After a moment, she reached out to squeeze Asami’s shoulder—then thought better of it and retracted her hand.

“There’s a target on my back. You don’t turn on the Equalists and walk. I’m…I’m the first.” Asami laughed darkly. “Let’s see how long I walk.”

Her anger seemed to have evaporated at this point, replaced by the very real fear and vulnerability that had probably been eating away at her all night. Tears were freely running down her face now, and her arms, which had been gripping her center tightly, were trembling violently.  

Korra hadn’t been sure whether Asami had stayed with them out of a sense of obligation, but knew now it was because she had nowhere else to go.

Completely uncertain as to whether it was the right thing to do and mentally prepared to get lashed out at again, Korra touched Asami’s shoulder delicately.

Asami jumped at the contact. Her eyes darted down to Korra’s hand, then back to Korra. Korra’s heart ached at the trepidation that waited there, the uncertainty, the desperation, the unspoken plea. Asami didn’t shake her hand off, and that was confirmation enough for Korra.

Slowly, Korra pulled Asami into her arms.

It was the very first embrace Korra had initiated, and perhaps the second or third time they’d ever done so. Korra didn’t know where to put her hands—settled for one around Asami’s shoulders and one around her waist—and held her close. Asami stiffened against her—

But she didn’t resist.

The words Korra had been unable to say, the promises and reassurances that had been stuck in her throat, surged out like a flood.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” Korra whispered into Asami’s ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry for blaming you. I’m sorry I made you feel alone. I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t have a place with us.”

Asami said nothing.

She sniffled, head locked in place, gazing staunchly forward.

Gently, Korra reached up with the hand that had been wrapped around Asami’s shoulders to stroke her hair. Again, Asami jumped. Remained stiff.

But she didn’t resist.

Korra continued stroking Asami’s hair as she spoke.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I…I was never going to,” she admitted.

Asami pulled back slightly to look at Korra. There was (reasonable) shock on her face.

“R-really?”

The disbelief in Asami’s voice was laced with insecurity—a silent request for validation.

Korra nodded, smiled tenderly.

“You asked me, right? Why I didn’t turn you in. I’ll admit, part of it was because I guess I did…want to see whether I could really trust you or not.” Asami arced an eyebrow inquisitively. Korra’s smile widened. “You proved I could. And, I was…err…touched, to say the least, by everything you did for me.” Korra’s smile grew sheepish, then her eyes softened. “I don’t think I realized this until today, but—honestly, I didn’t turn you in because I don’t think I could bear to lose you.”

Asami looked as if she’d been struck over the head. Her lips parted—then shut, just as quickly. She blinked, coughed, averted her gaze; there was a rosy tint to her cheeks that Korra found herself enamored with.

“Y-you’re probably the only one,” Asami croaked after a moment, only half-joking.

Korra frowned.

“Do you know what Mako said to me before I came over here?”

Asami glanced back at Korra.

“He asked me to thank you. He said you’re the strongest person he knows,” she recited meaningfully.

Asami blinked rapidly. There were new tears forming in her eyes—tears of incredulity, perhaps of gratitude—then she shook her head, as though shaking away the prospect of such an optimistic turn of events, as though she believed she didn’t deserve such positivity.

“He wouldn’t think that if he—”

“Something tells me he would,” Korra cut Asami off fiercely. She held up a hand when Asami opened her mouth to object. “Look, I’m not saying we should test it, but I’m almost certain that he would.”

Asami bit her lip grimly.

“‘Almost’,” she echoed despondently.

Korra sighed.

“He’s more sensitive than he lets on,” she explained gently. “It would hurt him, I won’t lie. Bolin on the other hand…I have no doubt. Especially after today.”

Asami searched Korra’s eyes. It was something Korra had seen her do, after some receiving some form of praise or reassurance, many times before—hadn’t always understood it. She knew now, why, Asami always sought some catch, the slightest sign of manipulation or deception, and her heart ached again. When Asami found none, nothing but sincerity, she lowered her eyes.

“Thanks, Korra,” she mumbled. “I…I don’t know if you’re right, but…it means a lot.”

Korra waited for Asami to look at her again, but she waited in vain.

With another sigh, Korra placed a finger under Asami’s chin and tilted her face up delicately.

Asami’s eyes widened.

“No matter what happens, I’ll protect you,” Korra promised earnestly. “From the Equalists, from Amon, from the Ministry—whatever. I’m not letting anything happen to you.

“No matter what happens, we’re with you, Asami. All of us. You’ll always have a place with us—whether you like it or not.”

There was a gurgled, choking sound—then, to Korra’s immense relief, Asami relaxed and surrendered to Korra’s embrace at last. She all but collapsed into Korra’s arms, reaching up under them to cling to her shoulders with both hands; the heiress buried her face in the crook of Korra’s neck, where she cried until the sky turned light.  

They didn’t talk again after that, but they didn’t have to. Korra was content to just be here for Asami. Finally, Asami grew still. Even so, she didn’t move, face pressed into Korra’s neck; her breathing was even now, soft against Korra’s skin. (Something warm spread through her chest.)

Korra didn’t let go.

Despite how terribly (predictably) their plan had backfired, Korra found herself somewhat relieved at how things had turned out.

Lin’s suspicions could be put to rest, at least temporarily; both the unidentified Equalist—the ‘Hufflepuff’—and Asami had been in the room at the same time. Moreover, Asami had proven her allegiance, like she had, time and time again.

Behind them, Bolin had fallen asleep on top of Mako, and though Mako feigned exasperation, Korra could tell he was relieved—grateful. She could see it in the softness of his gaze, the way he stroked his brother’s hair. Pema and Tenzin had stopped arguing, and while Pema was scowling, there was a measured tenderness in the way she treated his wounds.

Still, there was something that rubbed Korra the wrong way—a sense of dread she hadn’t been able to shake off.

The unnamed boy had vanished before the fight had even begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the last chapter felt a bit rushed/abrupt, it was actually supposed to be part of this one but it was starting to get way too long and it felt like I was trying to shove too many themes into one chapter. And to clarify the line above, because I feel like some of you smartasses are gonna call me out on it lmao, I meant that the boy disappeared before Asami started fighting. And yes I’m sure there’s a better way to word that but I’m way too tired to compute.
> 
> Anyway, not to be a giant nerd but I’m going to be one:  
> Not sure how many of you noticed the symbolism with the moon but I’ve been using it since Chapter 5, New Moon, to depict or “track” Asami’s transformation (or defection, whatever you want to call it) and, on a lesser scale, Korra’s acceptance of her.  
> Chapter 5: New Moon – a new beginning: Asami begins to question whether her loyalties are on the right side, and Korra accepts Asami as a friend  
> Chapter 9: First Quarter/Waxing Crescent – challenges and decisions/developing your intentions: Korra has to consider how her actions (being in the task force) affect Asami and what/who she wants to be for Asami while Asami truly realizes that Korra isn’t who Amon painted her out to be, that she ultimately has to make her decision soon  
> Chapter 13: Waxing Gibbous – adjustment, refining, and editing: Asami is closer to making her final decision, has to unlearn basically her entire childhood and accept her new reality; Korra has to reconsider her stance on Asami, has to consider that even though Asami is an Equalist, she could actually be loyal to Korra  
> This cycle comes to an end in the last chapter/here, where Asami acts on her newfound insight and chooses a side, and Korra forgives and truly embraces Asami as part of their group.
> 
> Just wanted to throw in that fun fact!  
> Also, thank you for all your well-wishes <3 I’m home and doing better now. By November I should be able to update fairly regularly again.


	17. Secrets of the Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. I don’t know if my update schedule will ever be as frequent as it was during the summer, as I’m taking on more commitments in my life, but I can promise I won’t abandon this story. Thank you all for being so supportive <3
> 
> Anyway, I’ve been waiting a long time to write this chapter, so let me know what you think!
> 
>  
> 
>                

* * *

The faculty had elected to keep the incident in the Room of Requirement under wraps, branding it as classified to all but those involved.

Naturally, the entire school was talking about it by the next day.

Korra wasn’t too bothered (or surprised) by this, though a little uneasy about the rumors regarding the involvement of four students…

Above all, it was the news of Hiroshi Sato’s collusion with the Equalists that sent a tremor through the wizarding world.

As Korra had suspected (dreaded), the disclosure was met with mixed reactions. Following the initial bout of horror came a great deal of skepticism, and, in extreme cases, denial: No one wanted to believe they’d been endorsing the brainchild of a terrorist. An enormous bounty had been placed on Hiroshi’s head, accompanied by both boycotts on Sato Industries’ products and (sometimes violent) protests on the part of his supporters. All things considered, publicly exposing his loyalties had only added fuel to a brilliantly raging fire.

To be fair, every article had excluded the most critical piece of evidence: Jinora’s memory. Tenzin and Lin had to jump through hoops to wrangle this, given most media outlets sprang at the first sign of provocative material, but it was a necessary endeavor—Korra’s safety would be (further) jeopardized were her status as the Chosen One broadcasted to the entire wizarding world. Fortunately, Hiroshi’s sudden disappearance coinciding with the outbreak of news, in addition to the hoard of Equalist supplies unearthed in the Room of Requirement, had persuaded most.

(On the other hand, Korra wasn’t sure how to feel knowing one of her greatest adversaries was on the loose, untracked, lost to the shadows, where he’d eagerly wait for an opportunity to feast on his prey…)

On the bright side, Potions lessons had been postponed until after Christmas break, granting the faculty time to find a suitable replacement; students had been excused from the term exam, to Korra’s utter delight. Moreover, Raiko had been condemned by the public for appointing Hiroshi Sato, as the investigations revealed (essentially, confirmed), on the premise of bribes. In response, he’d taken time off from work to ‘reflect,’ leaving Tenzin as interim Headmaster. As far as Korra was concerned, Christmas had come early.

Meanwhile, Sato Industries itself had issued an official apology, as well publicized as its intent to sever all ties with the Equalists and bring Hiroshi to justice. Given that Asami was still underage, the day-to-day operations of the company would be overseen by the board of directors for the time being—until Asami’s seventeenth birthday, when she would inherit her birthright.

Of all the consequences of their actions that night, Korra was most concerned about—

“Oi, mudblood! Have a minute?”

Korra came to a screeching halt.

“Don’t be thick, Evans—she’s on her way to meet Amon. We wouldn’t want to get in her way.”

“Oh, but I have a message for him. Think you can deliver?”

Korra’s jaw clenched.

Though she’d expected as much, the backlash against Asami for her father’s misdeeds had been brutal. Both media outlets and the student body had taken to villainizing her, when the poor girl wanted nothing to do with either Sato Industries or the Equalist movement. She’d been hounded for hours upon hours, interrogated both by the Ministry and by the media—‘interviews,’ which were just poorly disguised attempts at framing her as a criminal. Asami had fared well, given her state of mind—perhaps owing to years of public exposure—but her answers hadn’t resonated with anyone.

There were incessant rumors, theories that Asami had conspired with her father to create an illusion of security at Hogwarts—that despite denying any affiliation with the Equalists, she was, in fact, an undercover agent herself.

 _I mean…I guess they’re not wrong,_ Korra was forced to acknowledge.

Asami had become more withdrawn than ever, never raising her hand in class, never retaliating against—or even resisting—any of the maltreatment. This behavior was undoubtedly a precipitate of her childhood, the last of Hiroshi’s footprints; these lingered most prominently, had left the deepest imprint—and, Korra feared, irrevocably. She’d seen the pattern over and over again, didn’t doubt that Asami had resigned herself to her fate, believed she deserved it—and hated it even more.

Korra had taken to walking Asami to every class, even if it meant sprinting up and down the castle several times a day, doing her best to shield the heiress from insults and, worst case—

_“What the bloody hell happened to you?” Korra had demanded, leaping to her feet._

_Asami had arrived at the library drenched in egg yolk._

_"Nothing, it’s nothing—” she’d insisted, but the trio only needed one look to ascertain that their worst fears had been realized._

Of course, the most malicious response came from Slytherin.

The heiress was standing outside the Ancient Runes classroom, hands wrung, doing absolutely nothing to fend for herself as two sixth years belittled her. Though Asami was by no means short, she looked like a child before them. Suddenly, one of them jabbed a finger against her forehead—Asami didn’t resist—and the Slytherins guffawed as she stumbled backwards.

 _No—do_ something _—_

But she didn’t.

Asami hit the wall behind her with a muted _thud_. She gritted her teeth, but bowed her head, and said nothing.

 _"Sato’s little wench,”_ one of the boys crooned.

 _"Amon’s little bitch,”_ the other sang.

_“Coming to Hogwarts to warm up the bench—”_

Furious, Korra reached into her robes, but before she could draw her wand, someone (a flash of green) brushed past her—

“OI! YOU TWO! Ten points from Slytherin!”

Korra’s jaw dropped.

Tahno was standing before them.

Asami was frozen in shock.

The Slytherins seemed equally as startled by this turn of events. They glanced at each other quizzically, each seeking knowledge neither possessed, before peeking up at Tahno.

The hostility that waited there made even Korra flinch.

“What’s the matter, Tahno?” one of the boys giggled nervously, bemusedly. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Tahno cut him off coldly.                                            

“But, Sato’s a filthy—” the other began to protest.

“Sato is none of your business, you bloody wanker,” Tahno snapped, turning on him like a bullet. “Don’t be bitter.”

“I’m not—"

“You seemed rather bitter when she turned you down last month.”

Korra snorted.

The boy promptly fell silent, ears bright pink. His companion looked as though he didn’t know whether he was allowed to laugh or not.

Asami was looking away, but there was no hiding the smirk on her face.

Tahno’s lips twitched, then he grew solemn. He gazed down at the sixth years, who came just up to his chin, tilting his head as if appraising his prey.

At last, he sighed, as though he’d grown weary with this pastime.

“Piss off, the both of you—or you’ll be spending Christmas with Beifong.”

The boys hesitated, looking as though they were waiting for the punchline. When they received only a rigid glare in return, they scrambled away, throwing bewildered looks over their shoulders.

Silence.

Asami stared up at Tahno, astonished.

Korra remained motionless.

Tahno cleared his throat.

Refusing to make eye contact with either of them, he smoothened his robes importantly (awkwardly).

For a moment, it appeared as though he was about to say something to Asami. He glanced down at her, opened his mouth, then—

Tahno walked away without another word.

Both girls stared until he’d disappeared around the corner.

Korra recovered first.

“Are you all right?” she demanded, rushing to Asami’s side.   

Asami looked as if she’d sustained a concussion.

Dazed, she nodded.

“Err, yeah, I suppose. Thanks to…” Asami trailed off, unable to coherently recount what both girls were still struggling to process.

“What’s gotten into him?” Korra wondered aloud. “At Hogsmeade, too, he ran up to me all worried…”

Asami did a double take.

“ _Tahno_?”

“Right?” Korra shook her head. “Maybe he does have prefect blood in him, after all...”

A beat.

Then, she motioned for them to start walking.

It was nearly time for supper.

As they made their way towards the Great Hall, Korra noted the lack of decorations with a heavy heart. Usually by this time of year, Bumi and Tenzin would be adorning the corridors with holly and floating candles, lining the Great Hall with rows upon rows of fir trees. In the midst of exams, Bumi would take it upon himself to arrange mistletoe throughout the castle (to Tenzin’s chagrin)–a sort of end-of-term morale boost for the older students.

While there was a justification for postponement, given the immense workload Tenzin had inherited, Korra couldn’t help but feel that the current atmosphere had a greater hand in the delay, which left her feeling even worse.

“Err, by the way…”

Asami glanced at Korra, startled by the abrupt conversation.

“I’m sorry about…all this,” Korra continued quietly, attempting to encompass all of Asami’s suffering with incompetent gesturing. She dropped her hands and sighed. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

To Korra’s dismay, Asami laughed—without a trace of mirth.

“Maybe I do,” the heiress remarked darkly. “I was—”

“And you gave that up, along with everything to your name. To protect us. To protect the _world_. You don’t deserve this,” Korra repeated firmly, fiercely.

That had been the hardest pill to swallow: Asami had risked everything, and for that, she was being treated like a fugitive. The wizarding world knew nothing of Asami’s sacrifice—that it was Asami who’d betrayed her father, that it was Asami who’d saved them all, that it was Asami who’d forsaken herself—and for what?

To be accused, ostracized, and tossed aside.

There was nothing Korra could do, nothing she could say—not without hurting Asami—so she was left crippled, fumbling with ineffable rage.

“That’s an over-exaggeration,” Asami retorted despondently.

Recognizing that it would take a lot more than one reassurance to quell Asami’s self-loathing, Korra settled for distracting her (the Great Hall was hardly suited for private matters).

She grabbed Asami’s hand and squeezed it.

It was partially to console Asami, but more so, to brace herself; what she was about to do would require courage beyond her possession.

Asami jumped, eyes darting down to their interlocked hands and then, slowly, back up to Korra. There was a trace of pink on her cheeks.

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” Korra inquired.

Asami, who looked dazed, shook her head.

Korra inhaled deeply.

“Then you’re staying with us,” she declared.

She sounded a lot more confident than she felt, had forced the words out with a gust of bravado in an attempt to mask her insecurity. Korra was grateful Asami was holding her hand, for if she loosened her grip even a little, the trembling would become obvious. She was foolishly, inexplicably afraid that Asami would decline her offer. She didn’t know why it mattered—Asami was allowed to make her own decisions; who was she to desire anything otherwise? There was an irrational, immature attachment to this specific outcome, one Korra couldn’t explain.

When Asami began to object, Korra added, with a lump in her throat, “It looks worse if you avoid us.”

_And I…want you to be there…_

Asami fell silent.

She remained quiet for several, nerve-wracking moments.

Finally—

“I can’t believe you want to be seen with me…”

The relief—or devastation—Korra had been expecting was superseded by pity.

She frowned.

_I guess I should’ve seen this coming._

With a sigh, Korra forced a smile on her face and nudged Asami’s shoulder playfully.

“You wanted to be seen with me when you were popular. The least I can do is pay back the favor,” she teased. Then, she sobered, and, with an impressive display of valor, confessed, “And it would mean a lot to me if you were there…”

Asami blinked rapidly.

_Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that—_

Then, her lips twitched.

Korra’s heart accelerated at the sight. The implications of the expression—that could only mean Asami was considering it—and that alone made it difficult to breathe—

“Okay,” Asami agreed at last, cracking into a small, timid smile.

Korra felt as though her heart might burst.

“Really?” she cried, with no regard for dignity.

Asami looked surprised by Korra’s enthusiasm—and then entirely unsurprised—and chuckled.

“Really.”

For a moment, there was reprieve—Korra was no longer a prisoner of reality. For a moment, all Korra could see was Asami, gaze soft, glittering emerald, shining with warmth; Asami, with the sun in her eyes and the stars on her lips, beaming down at her with the brilliance of dawn.

Korra’s face was starting to hurt from smiling so widely.

“Hey, Korra? Could I talk to you for a—oops, am I interrupting something?”

Korra dropped Asami’s hand immediately.

“No, err, nope.”

_Smooth._

Wing’s eyes darted between the two warily.

“Err, all right then.” He didn’t look entirely convinced, but didn’t pursue the matter further. “Could I talk to you for a minute?” Wing repeated, turning to Korra.

Puzzled, Korra glanced at Asami, who nodded.

“I’ll see you later, then,” the heiress dismissed herself.

(Asami still used her American accent in front of the others, to Korra’s immense amusement.)

“We’re staying here for the holidays—make sure you sign the list!” Korra called after her.

Asami chuckled, waving her hand airily.  

Wing only waited until Asami was out of earshot to drag Korra to a nearby corridor.

“You three are up to something, aren’t you?” he demanded at once.

Korra balked.

“W-what? No—what makes you—”

“You four,” Wing corrected himself. He sighed, holding up a hand when Korra opened her mouth to dispute this. “I’m not stupid, Korra. I’ve seen you lot lumbering around under Mako’s cloak—I know you ditch us to pretend to sleep, and then sneak out to meet up at the library. And the sudden dip in interest for Quidditch? _Mako_?”

Wing wasn’t wrong. With Asami’s reputation under fire, the trio had been galvanized, taking up research again with renewed fervor. (Of course, this had been accompanied by a decline in both Quidditch and academic performance, to Korra’s distress; Mako and Bolin both had important exams this year…)

 _And, I guess, a decline in stealth,_ Korra lamented, distraught at being caught so quickly.

However, Wing didn’t look reproachful, or even suspicious. (And if someone were to catch on, it would be him.) In fact, he hardly looked interested at all.

Instead, he reached into his robes and produced—

“What’s this?” Korra asked, bemused, as she accepted what seemed like spare parchment. She opened it, to find—absolutely nothing. It really was a blank piece of parchment.

“Think of it as an early Christmas gift,” Wing replied, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “Parchment?”

Wing deadpanned.

Then, he broke into a grin. “I’m insulted, Korra. Let me show you exactly how useful ‘parchment’ can be.”

Korra watched, utterly nonplussed, as Wing drew his wand and tapped the parchment.

“ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,_ ” he muttered.

Thoroughly amused, Korra was about to make a scathing remark, when, to her absolute disbelief—

Where there had been only blank parchment before, words in swooping, cursive font began to take shape on the page:

_Messrs. Scarface, Twinkle Toes, Hawky, and The Blind Bandit_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER’S MAP_

From the tip of Wing’s wand shot out a jet of ink—zigzagging lines now traveling across the page—

These wove around one other, and with each junction, left a delicate image in place—twirling, crisscrossing, interweaving—until the entire map of Hogwarts had materialized before them.

It was no ordinary map, but a perfect replica, precise down to the very details that defined the castle. There were hidden rooms, secret passageways—several direct routes to Hogsmeade. Most peculiar of all were the little moving dots speckled throughout, representative of every inhabitant at Hogwarts—even Sokka, who was cavorting around with the other ghosts. There was Asami, making her way into the Great Hall…Iroh, prowling around on the grounds…Madam Xu, by the Whomping Willow…

 “This is how Wei and I got away with everything all these years,” Wing explained, stowing his wand. Then, his face darkened. “Considering everything going on right now, I figured it would come in handy with the…Equalists and all.”

Korra barely heard him, gaze locked on Tarrlok’s dot, which hadn’t moved from his office. Whether it was Hiroshi’s absence—or Hiroshi’s ambush—Korra found her attention fixated on Tarrlok lately. He was her only remaining adversary at Hogwarts, and had been inactive far too long for Korra’s comfort; it would be foolish not to assume he was plotting something. If they could keep tabs on Tarrlok now…maybe he’d lead them to what they were all searching for…

She blinked when she realized Wing was waiting for a response.

“Wing, are you sure? Giving something like this to me?”

Wing nodded. “If I give this to mum or Aunt Lin, I’ll just get an earful….” His eyes glinted mischievously. “You, Mako, and Bolin, on the other hand—prefects who know when to bend the rules. Even Wei’s on board.”

Korra laughed.

_That’s probably the most accurate description of what we do._

“Err—how do you turn this thing off, by the way?”

Wing drew his wand again.

“ _Mischief managed_ ,” he declared, tapping the map.

Korra bit back another gibe.

“Do you know who made this?” she asked instead. “Err, who ‘Scarface, Twinkle Toes, Hawky, and The Blind Bandit’ are?”

Wing shrugged. “No clue.”

Korra hesitated.

_I think I’ve had enough of relying on messages from strangers._

“And you’re sure we can…trust this?” she began carefully. “I know you’ve been using it for years but—"

Korra stopped talking when she caught sight of the look on Wing’s face.

It was an ambivalent one, and apparently, an accurate representation of Wing’s sentiments regarding the matter; he looked as though he didn’t know how to feel either. His expression suggested he was about to impart meaningful knowledge—specifically, information that had never been shared before, or else, fabricated.

Wing lowered his eyes, rubbed his arm.

“My…err—” he stole a glance at Korra, as if to pre-emptively gauge her reaction “—my grandma gave this to me, actually.”

Korra’s eyes widened. “ _Toph_?”

Wing nodded, still rubbing his arm self-consciously. His gaze was distant, and if Korra peeked, she was sure she could see the memory for herself.

(She decided against it.)

“She came to visit me when I was sleeping, once, way back—before we started school here.” Wing seemed to be talking more to himself than Korra at this point. “She came and told me that I was brave, that when the time came, I had to do the right thing.” He shook his head. “Had no clue what she was going on about, really…didn’t know she knew how to be soft, from what I’ve heard. But—” he used his chin to indicate the map “—she gave me this. I thought it was a dream, but when I woke up—this was actually there. She’s the only blind person I know, so…I’m guessing ‘The Blind Bandit’ has to be her, at least.”

Korra didn’t know what to say.

 _Didn’t Toph disappear years ago?_ Then, it clicked. _But Wing—_ Wing _was the one who told me that._

_“Wait, does that mean Grandma is still alive?” Wei whispered. “How come we haven’t met her?”_

_“Dunno. Heard she took off after—I think—after Chief Sokka passed away and never came back,” Wing supplied._

_“Wait, how come you know that and I don’t—”_

Wing sighed, shook his head again, as if that would at least temporarily mollify his uncertainty. Squaring his shoulders, he turned back to Korra.

“Anyway…we figured if someone can put this to good use, it’s you.” Wing chuckled at the alarmed look on Korra’s face. “Don’t worry—all of this stays between us. I promise.”

Korra sighed in relief, and then beamed at her friend.

“Thanks, Wing.”

 

* * *

 

“You overheard all of this while spying on Amon?”

Mako sounded skeptical.

They were gathered by the Restricted Section of the library, as usual. Only—

“No, I found out some of it from my dad’s work documents,” Asami lied smoothly. “He didn’t think to cover his tracks from me.”

At last, Asami had been allowed to join the trio’s research sessions. Those who’d been present in the Room of Requirement were in awe of her, indebted to her; whether reluctantly (Lin) or enthusiastically (the others), she’d finally been embraced as an official member of the group.

In fact, there was even a sense of disparity, as it wasn’t Asami that Korra was briefing but Mako and Bolin.

Both brothers, like Korra, had been healed swiftly thanks to Pema’s expertise, and resumed investigating just as quickly. Korra had been relieved—touched to discover their passion for vindicating Asami, rather than the suspicion and doubt she (and Asami) had feared.

There was a poignancy to this, however, as the truth would come out eventually, and Korra didn’t know what to expect from Mako, who never enjoyed—no, even allowed—for his loyalty to be tested.

(She opted to ignore this for now.)

Mako looked unconvinced.

While he had readily accepted all of the new information Korra had bestowed upon them—Jinora’s testimony, the conversation between Amon and Hiroshi, Aang’s warning, and, most importantly, Asami’s knowledge of the Equalists—he was, reasonably, wary of its source.

Korra didn’t doubt that it was only a matter of time before Mako figured it out, but again, opted to repress this concern for the time being.

Mako turned on Korra.

“So, you’ve known that Hiroshi was an Equalist all this time, and you didn’t tell us?”

He sounded…hurt?

“No, I—” _wasn’t sure until I found out Asami was an Equalist_ “—I wasn’t sure until the match. Until Jinora told me,” Korra lied.

(She winced internally.)

Mako gazed down at her unfathomably. It was an odd arrangement—where, usually, the three of them would be lounging at the table, Mako was standing, stiff, irascible—almost confrontational—Korra was (now) also standing, hands pressed against the table in distress, Asami was sitting on a cushion on the floor, holding another against her chest, and Bolin, who had slid all the way down in his seat, was glancing between the three of them anxiously. The entire meeting had been wrought with tension, and for what, Korra was uncertain.

“I sense some weird conflict,” Bolin piped up at last, eyes flitting between Mako and Korra. “We’re all on the same team, aren’t we?”

Mako faltered at this—glancing at Bolin before averting his gaze self-consciously. He straightened and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, you’re—you’re right. Err…sorry,” he muttered, the last syllable barely audible.

The other three gaped at each other.

Korra had to fight to keep herself from ridiculing Mako. (That would immediately destroy what little peace they’d achieved.)

“It’s…it’s fine. There’s something I wanted to talk to you lot about, anyway,” Korra said, gesturing for Mako to sit.

Mako nodded, gradually lowering himself into the chair beside Bolin. “Aang’s memories?”

Korra paused. “Oh. I—well, it wasn’t that—but yeah, we should probably talk about that.”

Mako arced an eyebrow. “Then?”

Korra exchanged a meaningful glance with Asami.

“The stone,” she said slowly.

Both brothers sat up straight.

Korra exhaled deeply, repeatedly curling and uncurling her fists; the mere mention of it perturbed her, had haunted her endlessly since she’d come to know of it.

“Couldn’t hear them too clearly, no clue what it can do or what it’s good for…but it’s here, at Hogwarts, and both Amon and Tarrlok are after it,” she continued after a moment, pacing around the table. “From what I heard—only I can…only I can…” Korra’s voice shrank as she spoke, confidence dwindling, “err…well, I’m not sure,” she admitted finally, “but that’s why they both need me.”

Mako frowned. “Does it have to do with—?”

Korra nodded. “That’s what Amon said.” She sighed. “No idea what I’m supposed to do, though…”

“We could really use the other half of that prophecy right about now,” Bolin murmured.

Asami, who’d been glancing between them wordlessly until this point, raised her hand.

“We…do have a hint,” she began tentatively.

Everyone turned to her.

Cheeks slightly red from the attention, Asami pressed on, “What Mako just said—Aang’s memories.” The trio’s expressions remained the same. Asami sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aang is the only other Chosen One we know of, right? He probably knows how to make sense of all this.”

“But he’s dead,” Bolin pointed out—although unhelpfully—accurately.

“Yeah, but he can contact Korra,” Asami countered. “Isn’t there a chance that she can contact him, too?”

There was a moment of silence as they processed this; it was a restless quiet, brimming with idealistic excitement.

“He could probably help me figure out all the other Chosen One nonsense, too,” Korra chimed in eagerly. “D’you think the stone is my key to sorting out all this? That maybe if I have it, I can talk to Aang?”

“I mean, there’s no telling what the stone is or can do…but if you’re the only one who can use it properly, then, it’s worth a shot,” Mako agreed.

Korra slammed her hand down on the table—and then grimaced at the consequent glare Wan Shi Tong fired in their direction.

“Let’s go. We already know Amon and Tarrlok are after it—” Korra’s mind was racing, mouth struggling to keep up “—if we beat them there—”

“Hang on—not so fast, Chosen One.” Mako raised a hand in reproach.

Korra scowled, but—

“Fine, I’m listening,” she grumbled, plopping back down on her chair. 

“We should wait until this weekend,” Mako continued solemnly, “when everyone goes home for break. Even if we have the Invisibility Cloak, it’s too dangerous to risk anything right now.”

“He’s right,” Bolin agreed, to Korra's dismay. “Lin and Tenzin are cracking down on everyone up after curfew nowadays, after what happened last...” he trailed off, glancing at Asami. “Err, y’know. Things will probably be a little calmer when there are less students around. Less _prefects_ around.”

 “I think it’s better if only two of us go,” Mako added. “My Invisibility Cloak isn’t big enough to cover all four of us—and we’ve almost gotten caught a load of times as three, as is.”

 _Actually, we’ve_ been _caught,_ Korra thought to herself, thinking of the article laying at the bottom of her bookbag.

“All right, all right—we’ll wait,” she relented. “I have something that can help us be more careful, as well.”

All three of her companions raised their eyebrows.

Slowly, she reached into her bag and produced the Marauder’s Map.

“Wing gave it to me—early Christmas gift, or whatever,” Korra clarified at the perplexed look on their faces.

“Parchment?” Bolin echoed, and Korra had to laugh.

“No—that’s what I thought, too. Watch.” Incredibly self-conscious of what she was about to do, Korra sighed, and then tapped the parchment with her wand. _“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,”_ she muttered, cheeks burning.

At once, the map sprang to life. Korra smirked at the looks of awe on her companions’ faces, not unlike her own earlier.

“It’s a full map of the castle. We can track pretty much anyone who’s at Hogwarts with this,” Korra explained, gesturing to the moving dots. “Prefects, professors, Equalists, Tarrlok—”

“Look, that’s us!” Bolin cried, pointing at the four dots tucked away into the corner of the library.

“Are there others?” Mako demanded at once.

He had gone rigid.

**The last thing we need is for the people we’re monitoring to monitor _us_ …**

(Korra couldn’t help herself—Mako had been acting strangely all evening.)

Korra shook her head. “I think this is the only one.”

“How do you know?” he pressed. “And where did Wing even get this?”

Korra balked.

Wing’s expression earlier had very much screamed, ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ and she owed him the privacy he’d offered her.

“Err, well…I don’t want to go into detail—it’s private—but, it’s reliable, trust me. Wing and Wei have been using it for years,” Korra reasoned lamely.

Though he still looked uneasy, Mako conceded to this justification.

“Ugh, no wonder they got off scot-free all this time,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Meanwhile—

“THIS IS SO COOL!” Bolin hollered, pointing at Opal’s dot in excitement.

“SHHHHHHH!”

“Sorry…”

“There’s one more problem,” Asami reminded them, when they had finished fawning over the map (Bolin was still going). Korra glanced down at her inquisitively. “Remember what we heard? The stone is heavily guarded—how are we going to get past that?”

Korra grinned sheepishly. “I was sort of hoping you’d be able to do something about that.” When Asami looked confused, she added, “You’re a gifted witch, Asami. If there’s someone who can get past those enchantments, it’s you.”

Asami blushed.

However, before the heiress could reply—

“Wait. What?”

There it was again, that vague tension, that gnawing discontent Korra couldn’t make sense of.

Mako was on his feet, eyes darting between Korra and Asami. “You’re going with _Asami_?”

Korra, who didn’t understand the problem, nodded slowly. “Err, yeah, I…” _could use her intel._ “She’s probably the best at magic, out of any of us.”

Jaw clenched, Mako turned his gaze on Asami. There was something there, something tense and intimate the other two knew nothing of; Korra felt the need to look away. Asami, who’d been flustered a moment earlier, was gazing back at Mako oddly. There was an understanding there—a conflict—and Korra didn’t know what to think. Bolin looked equally as puzzled.

(Korra debated peeking again, but part of her was afraid of what she’d find.)

Finally, Asami slipped into a conciliatory half-smile, as if to say, ‘I’ll go with whatever you guys decide.’

Mako wasn’t as agreeable.

“But it’s _my_ cloak,” he shot back.

Korra blinked.

_Is that…an actual argument…?_

To her relief, Bolin was once again the voice of reason.

“Mate, it’s not a big deal. It makes more sense for them to go, anyway,” he said gently, touching Mako’s forearm.

“But—”

“Don’t make it weird,” Bolin added, with a note of mortification in his voice.

Once again, Mako only just seemed to recognize his disruptive behavior. At last, he noticed that he was the odd one out, that he, alone, was very passionate about this otherwise trivial matter, while his companions were entirely uncomfortable.

Mako coughed awkwardly.

“Y-yeah. All right,” he replied—but it sounded like an acquiescence. He slumped back down into his seat. Without looking at Korra, he mumbled, “I’ll lend you my cloak.”

A beat. Painfully awkward silence.

Korra cleared her throat. “All right, then—”

They were ushered out of the library before she could finish her sentence. (The sky had grown dark, and with the changing seasons, curfew came earlier and earlier.)

As they filed out, Korra could’ve sworn there was a triumphant glint in Asami’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

Exams were, as Korra expected, ruthless.

It went without saying that Asami and Mako had scored high marks, although, the latter was bitter that he hadn’t aced his exams. Korra had little patience for this, as she and Bolin had passed by the skin of their teeth; Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures were, respectively, their only ‘O’s for the term. Thankfully, Korra had managed to pass her Charms exam, to Tenzin’s immense relief. (The absence of Potions had also served as a significant boost to her overall term report, which she sent home in higher spirits than she’d expected.)

Nevertheless, Christmas break, usually greeted with joy, was accompanied by a sense of foreboding this year. Many farewells came with an air of finality—several students likely wouldn’t return after break—and tensions were still high between purebloods and muggle-borns. More troubling still, there was no telling what calamity would ambush them over break. Hogwarts was emptier than usual, and with the newfound barrenness, a lack of holiday cheer.

However, Korra found little time to lament this—there was work to be done. And while this was an opportunity for the quartet, it was also an opportunity for their enemies.

Korra noted this bitterly as she waited outside the Ravenclaw Common Room.

As discussed, Asami emerged a quarter past curfew (this time, reasonably dressed). She glanced around, first, warily, then, bewilderedly, unable to place (the invisible) Korra. Korra was content to observe this endeavor for a few moments before revealing herself.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, I’m right here,” Korra grinned, allowing her head to emerge.

Asami, who’d never employed—or so much as witnessed employment of—the Invisibility Cloak before, jumped violently at the sight of Korra’s floating head.

Korra burst into laughter.

“Shut up, you’re going to get us caught,” Asami chided, cheeks burning. She allowed Korra to throw the cloak over her before glaring down at her.

Korra grinned cheekily—and when Asami’s expression remained unchanged—averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “Err, anyway, we should get going. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

As Mako had suggested, traveling by pair proved much more efficient than their usual stumbling around; the Invisibility Cloak had served them well as children, but it was designed for one adult user, let alone four overgrown teenagers. And, like Bolin had advised, the absence of prefects made sneaking around much easier. No, Korra had other problems this time around.

“How’s it looking?” Asami inquired after a moment.

Korra had been pouring over the Marauder’s Map long before their rendezvous, trying to determine where exactly they were supposed to go. As detailed as the map was, there was an unexplained void on the third floor, one which Korra had been entirely unprepared for.

(This was her fault; she’d had an entire week to study the map but found little motivation after grueling three-hour exams multiple times a day.)

“I think the ‘enchantments’ go as far as this map, too,” Korra retorted forlornly. “We might have a long night ahead of us.”

Asami squeezed Korra’s shoulder. Korra glanced up—froze at the warmth in Asami’s eyes.

“That’s fine. Take your time,” Asami coaxed, voice silken.

Korra’s heart skipped a beat. There was something else—something light, fluttery in her stomach—

Korra averted her gaze hastily, returning her attention to the map with perhaps too much ardor.

Just then—

“Hang on! Look—” she pointed at a dot moving out of the Headmaster’s Office.

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“Tenzin?”

Tenzin’s dot paused for a moment—vanished abruptly—then reappeared on the second floor by the Gargoyle Corridor. Paused there. Then, it darted around the corner, up the stairs, straight towards—

“Tenzin doesn’t have patrol duty today—” Suyin and Kya’s dots were hovering around the castle “—and there’s no reason he’d be out of bed this late at night—"

Comprehension dawned on Asami’s face.

“He’s going to lead us to the stone.”

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Korra urged.

They’d taken about two steps forward before—

“Fuck!” Korra hissed, grabbing a hold of Asami’s sleeve.

In her preoccupation with Tenzin, she hadn’t paid any attention to Toza’s dot, which had just rounded the corner—

Silence.

Then, in the distance, soft, but growing louder with every passing second—

_Tink, tink…tink, tink…tink, tink…_

_If he catches me again, I’m doomed._ _Dad is going to have a riot if I’m sent home..._

To Korra’s horror, Asami’s boots were peeking out from the bottom of the cloak. In a panic, Korra threw her arms around Asami’s neck and forced the heiress to crouch—Asami’s head collided against her temple, causing both to grunt in pain—

The rattling stopped abruptly.

“What was that?”

Both girls froze.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Toza had passed them; he paused, turned—to directly face where they were standing.

For all the security the Invisibility Cloak promised, Korra had never felt more exposed in her life.

“I’m not stupid,” he growled. “I know you’re here...”

_Tink, tink…tink, tink…tink, tink…_

Korra’s heart was in her throat.

Her eyes were screwed shut—they shot open when she realized how much closer the caretaker was—it would only be a matter of time—

Asami had to clap a hand over Korra’s mouth to keep her from screaming. Still recovering from the unexpected physical contact, Korra turned carefully to see what Asami was gesturing at.

The heiress pointed at the map—then behind them, at a statue—Korra didn’t look fast enough—

The wall behind them gave away noiselessly.

The last thing Korra saw before the passage closed was the tip of Toza’s lantern, turning towards them in slow motion—

Asami held a finger to her lips.

It wasn’t a completely foolproof plan; if Toza decided to investigate the statue, he’d surely discover them. The hideaway Asami had stumbled upon seemed less like a passageway and more like a cavity where students snuck off to steal kisses between classes—

Korra’s face heated up at the thought.

She was acutely aware of how close Asami was to her—the dizzying scent of jasmine and waterfalls—the warmth of her embrace—

Korra’s face was pressed against the crook of Asami’s neck, arms wrapped around the heiress’s waist. Asami seemed not to have noticed their position, one arm around Korra’s shoulders, the other covering her nose and mouth. Korra doubted Toza would be able to hear them breathing—then, was uncertain again—

Korra held her breath.

This didn’t help. Now, all she could focus on was _Asami’s_ breathing—the rhythmic rise and fall of Asami’s chest—Asami’s heart, hammering against her breast—

As Korra’s eyes adjusted to the darkness around them, Asami’s silhouette came into focus. The shadows running down the contours of her cheekbones, the defined line of her jaw—Korra couldn’t see Asami’s face clearly, but it was all sharp angles and determination, intoxicating…

It was frigid in the passage, where sun had never touched it, where the residual cold had seeped in and accumulated for centuries—but Korra was warm, warmer than anything—she had been holding her breath for too long—

Finally, Asami breathed out in relief.

“Thank god for Wing. I think he’s gone,” she whispered, lowering her hand.

_Oh, right—that’s why we were holding our breath…so we could…hear him…_

Korra had scarcely been able to hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat.

“Korra, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Korra squeaked, shoving away from Asami. “Fine, I’m fine. We need to get going, he’s probably told others by now. Let’s—let’s go.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

One embarrassing development later (Korra didn’t actually know how to unseal the passage, so following her unnecessary outburst came an awkward pause while Asami opened it for her), they were bustling down the stairs, racing towards the third floor in the hope of outrunning reinforcements—and more importantly—catching up with Tenzin.

As they ran, Korra came to a grave realization: she had never actually been to the third floor.

For as long as she’d been at Hogwarts, it’d been the forbidden floor, completely off-limits to students. This restriction wasn’t lifted when she became prefect, as only professors were allowed to patrol it.

So, of all the terrifying obstacles she’d been envisioning—

“It’s locked,” Korra remarked dumbly.

They were standing before a singular door at the base of the staircase between the third and fourth floors. It was a very mundane, rickety oak door, and now that Korra actually looked, it seemed out of place against the grandeur and marble of its surroundings; somehow, she suspected that it’d been enchanted to blend in unless someone went out of their way to take notice.

 _“Alohomora,”_ Asami whispered, and, when the door swung open without any resistance, fixed Korra with a poised eyebrow.

Korra blushed.

“I—I wasn’t thinking—”

“Clearly,” Asami smirked, and then gestured for Korra to enter.

(There it was again, something fluttery, something unsettling—foreign—something Korra couldn’t put a name to; she opted to ignore it.)

Korra was once again disappointed by what awaited them. She hadn’t expected gilded statues and shimmering tapestries, but a long, narrow hallway with two doors was a stretch from what she’d been imagining. The only source of light was a pair of candle sconces beside each door, casting the corridor in an eerie orange glow.

“Please tell me you know which door,” both girls said at the same time and then groaned.

Korra pulled out the Marauder’s Map in a last-ditch attempt to ascertain their destination—perhaps Tenzin would inadvertently guide them once again—

Only, Korra knew what was waiting for her before she saw it.

“He’s gone,” she muttered forlornly, gazing at the void on the third floor.

There was no sign of Tenzin’s dot anywhere—no telling which door he’d used.

“And nothing on the doors…”

“You know, I was expecting a little more than having to choose the right door,” Asami commented dryly.

Korra sighed and drew her wand. “Me too. _Mischief managed._ But who knows?” she mused as she folded up the map. “Maybe they’re enchanted so anyone who doesn’t know…err…whatever there is to know, I suppose, will pick the wrong door each time. That seems like something Tenzin would do.”

Asami grimaced. “And who knows what’s waiting on the other side of the wrong door?”

They were enveloped in an uneasy silence.

Trying her best to ignore the overwhelming sense of impending doom (often an inevitable consequence of her own doing), Korra examined the doors. As far as she could tell, there was no distinguishing the two. Both doors were of the same shape, structure, material—every detail identical right down to the candle sconce beside each.

Suddenly, Asami pointed at the thin frame above the doors.

“Is it just me, or do those look like runes?” she inquired.

Korra followed Asami’s gaze. Indeed, there were symbols etched along a silver strip of metal that lined the top of each door.

“Yeah, I think you’re right!” Korra cried excitedly.

Then, she deflated.

Ancient Runes had been her worst subject alongside Charms.

The door on the left boasted a series of ornate carvings that reminded Korra of abstract art; there wasn’t anything that particularly stood out to her. The door on the right had more concrete symbols, but none Korra could decipher on her own.

 “Err…Ravenclaw? Want to help out your dumb Gryffindor?” Korra requested sheepishly.

Asami, who’d been studying the doors intently, cracked into a smile. She glanced sideways at Korra, as if to say, ‘Your wish is my command.’ The intensity in her gaze left Korra breathless.

“Unless I’m wrong, that’s the symbol for a great beast,” Asami stated, pointing at the door on the right. “It says something like ‘those who can face their worst fears can attain the greatest rewards.’”

In the center of a line of symbols otherwise foreign to Korra lay a large serpent; she didn’t have to understand runes to know what it was referring to.

Korra’s stomach churned.

“Okay, and the other?”

“Err, it’s a bit dramatic—it says something along the lines of ‘discovering one’s greatest desire,’” Asami translated, squinting at the symbols.

Korra frowned. She was just as confused as she’d been when they started.

Suddenly—

Asami’s eyes lit up. She quickly turned to Korra.

“You don’t think it’s talking about the stone, do you?”

“Err…”

Asami didn’t wait for a reply.

“Of course! Amon and Tarrlok are both after the stone. And what do they want?”

Korra blinked. “Power…?”

“Exactly! The stone represents power—humanity’s greatest temptation!”

By the time Asami had finished, both girls were grinning at each other.

“You’re bloody brilliant, Asami,” Korra beamed. “Thank you. I could’ve never done this without you.”

Korra had noticed another common pattern with Asami: the heiress was flustered in the face of praise. She expected this pattern to emerge again—only—

Asami simpered down at Korra, something smoldering in her gaze.

“Of course. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my Gryffindor,” she murmured huskily.

Korra’s heart stopped.

She had to look away.

Korra found her ability to handle this Asami—this confident, roguish Asami—deteriorating. She wanted to believe it was because she was no longer accustomed to it—that it was because it’d been so long since Asami had been this version of herself—but knew, somewhere underneath that fragile rationalization, it wasn’t that. Korra had been exposed to this Asami before, and handled it just fine.

Part of her knew that it wasn’t out of a lack of familiarity with this side of Asami, but an abrupt shift in status quo; it was something within her, something beyond her—and suddenly impossible. Korra’s heart was still racing—she wanted to blame their encounter with Toza, their rush here—but part of her knew it wasn’t that. No, it wasn’t that—but she didn’t know what.

(Perhaps part of her knew, but it was easier to pretend she didn’t.)

“It’s…empty.”

Korra had all but forgotten their goal, mind still ringing with ‘my Gryffindor.’

They had emerged on the other side of the door in a cellar, barely tall enough to accommodate Asami and only wide enough to fit a handful of desks. As Asami had pointed out, the room was barren, cobwebs strewn across the beams; there was a very distinct scuttling that echoed out over the cobblestone floor, one which made the hairs on the back of Korra’s neck stand up.

However, there was something much more pressing than the threat of vermin.

“No, it’s not.” Korra stared at the object on the other end of the room.

 _I didn’t think it was actually_ real _…_

“That? It’s just a mirror,” Asami retorted disinterestedly.

Korra shook her head, stepping out from under the cloak. She approached the structure gradually, still astonished. It was standing on its own, propped up on two feet, grazing the ceiling; it was grand, tall—taller than Asami—and encased in a beautiful gold frame.

_Of course—‘discovering one’s greatest desire’—_

“It’s the Mirror of Erised,” Korra breathed.

Asami looked shocked that there was something Korra knew that she didn’t.

“Err—I’ve read pretty much every book on Aang at this point,” Korra explained, rubbing the back of her neck bashfully.

Asami smirked. “Wow, you reading? I’m impressed.”

Korra scowled. “S-shut up.” She turned back to the mirror, pointed at the inscription along the top, and continued, “‘I show you not your face, but your heart’s desire.’”

Asami, who’d been frowning and mouthing, ‘ _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_ ,’ turned bright pink.

“Oh, r-right. It’s backwards.”

It was Korra’s turn to smirk.

“Anyway, it shows you your heart’s greatest desire at the time you look into it. I thought it was just a rumor, but apparently Aang used the mirror in his second year to figure out how to defeat Ozai without killing him…” Korra mused, circling the mirror. “Maybe—maybe this can show us where the stone is?”

Asami, who had been nodding along, listening patiently, arced an eyebrow at this. “Your heart’s greatest desire is the stone?”

Korra hesitated.

She’d never truly deliberated on her deepest desires. Everything had always been a haze—blurry, barely memorable, lost to the rapid winds of time; Korra thrived on external stimulation, found very little desire to look within.

(Or, perhaps, she was terrified of what she’d find.)

“Err…well, I’m not sure about that—but—Amon did say I’m the only one who can…use…it?” Korra’s confidence was waning as she went.

“You’re sure he didn’t mean the stone itself?” Asami inquired, and Korra’s confidence dissipated completely.

A disconcerting quiet.

There were no windows in the cellar, just a few levitating orbs of brilliant white light, painting the room pallid. The glowing orbs seemed particularly attracted to Asami—had been hovering around her from the moment they’d entered the cellar.

Asami herself seemed not to have taken notice, instead, gazing at Korra. It wasn’t unlike the look a subordinate would give their leader, as if to say, ‘I’ll support whatever you decide.’

“It…it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?” Korra said at last.

“I suppose,” Asami conceded.

Korra nodded.

It was several more moments before she actually moved. Finally, after exchanging a glance with Asami, Korra stepped directly in front of the mirror. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Shoulders squared, she opened her eyes, and raised them slowly to meet—

It was immature, certainly, to have placed all of her hopes on the first clue they’d received; immature, certainly, to expect it all to work out on their first try and be finished with it so quickly. Too simple, too clean.

Too easy.

And nothing about being the Chosen One was ever easy.

“Dammit,” Korra cursed through gritted teeth.

Asami was at her side in an instant. “What—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Korra replied morosely. She turned away from the mirror, eyes screwed shut in the raw ire that only accompanied immense disappointment.

_Calm the fuck down…this is your fault for getting ahead of yourself…_

But calm was remote, ever elusive of Korra. She was beside herself with vexation, hands curled into trembling fists. Korra wouldn’t look at Asami—poor Asami, who always went along with Korra’s futile plans without a trace of doubt.

Asami shifted her weight. She looked uncertain as to how to proceed.

“What did you see?” she asked hesitantly, expression suggesting she was mentally preparing herself to get lashed out at.

Korra exhaled deeply. Steeled herself.

_You’re doing her no good by being angry with no explanation…_

“Nothing useful,” Korra said slowly, as evenly as she could manage. She opened her eyes and met Asami’s gaze. “I didn’t see the stone—which, probably, is behind the _other_ door.” A slip—her voice had hardened with ire. Another deep breath. Korra turned back to the mirror. “I see myself besting Amon. I’m not afraid of him, not falling for his cheap bullshit anymore.”

Indeed, the mirror depicted another version of herself, far away, in some other universe. This Korra was standing in the midst of flames, and in front of her, kneeling, was Amon. Korra couldn’t fathom where this alternate Korra got the courage to stand before Amon like this, wandless, gazing down at him coldly. Powerfully. She…she actually looked like the Chosen One.

“But it’s not showing me anything about the stone. It’s not showing me how to get it, how to get past whatever enchantments there are.” Korra was beginning to grow irate again. “I don’t even _have_ the stone!”

Asami, who’d been listening with a sympathetic expression, looked stricken. Whether she was aware of it or not, she was wringing her hands again.  

“Don’t take this the wrong way but—I-I don’t think we should go through the other door,” Asami began timidly. Korra stared at her. Asami sighed. “Look, hear me out. Practically speaking, we can’t right now anyway—we’re going to run into Tenzin at some point if we do, and that’s not going to end well. Even if we try in the future…do you think we can handle a Basilisk?”

Korra hesitated.

“Exactly. And if there’s a Basilisk, who knows what else there is?”

Korra looked away, both embarrassed and frustrated. Asami was right and she knew it.

“But Amon knows where it’s being kept,” she protested stubbornly.

“And now so do we,” Asami countered immediately. “Even if we don’t know how to get to it, if Amon needed you, me, and my father to get to it—of whom, he now has none—I don’t think he’ll be getting a hold of it any time soon. And Tenzin is guarding it, to boot.” 

“Maybe, but if Tenzin knows, that probably means the professors know—which means Tarrlok knows. So, it’s not safe for long,” Korra pointed out darkly.

Asami’s face fell.

She fiddled with her hands for a long time before trying again—perhaps one final endeavor to convince Korra.

“We haven’t exactly been part of its protection for however long it’s been around, and it’s been fine all this time. Do you really think four teenagers can protect it better than the most revered wizards in the world? Even if you get to it first, who knows, maybe that’s what Tarrlok wanted all along—you doing his dirty work for him. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve played right into his hands.” Korra’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing. Perhaps emboldened by Korra’s lack of resistance, Asami stepped closer, reaching for Korra’s hand. “Can’t we make the assumption that it’s safe, at least for now?”

“We can’t,” Korra snapped, and then immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I’m sorry…”

Asami had retreated several steps. She didn’t look entirely pacified by Korra’s apology, but at least seemed to consider it, and didn’t retreat any further. A beat.

Asami looked hesitant to speak again.

Korra sighed, turned away from the mirror, and approached Asami cautiously.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice. I’m just…stressed…and…I feel like this is my fault,” Korra admitted in a low voice.

Asami frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I should be protecting whatever this is. It’s technically mine, isn’t it? I’m the Chosen One. But here I am, lost out of my mind, sneaking around, with other people putting their lives on the line to protect _me…_ ” Korra gritted her teeth. Then, she laughed mirthlessly. “Some half-baked Chosen One I am. I dragged you out here for nothing. You’re already in hot water—for something that isn’t even your fault—and here I am jeopardizing your status again—”

Asami took Korra’s hands between her own, and Korra fell silent.

“You’re being way too hard on yourself. You didn’t even _know_ you were the Chosen One until a few months ago. And we literally just found out there’s a stone. You’re only sixteen and here you are putting your life at risk, working tirelessly to do your part in saving the world—something no one expects of you, except _you_.”

Asami’s words had struck a chord. Korra suddenly felt light-headed. She was dazed, distant, underwater, baffled by the person she was looking at—herself, a version of herself that chased wild abstractions, ran blindly, knew nothing.

Asami squeezed Korra’s hands, and she returned to the present.

“The fact that you care so much that you’re willing to dive straight into the face of danger says everything about you. You’re not some ‘half-baked Chosen One’—like I said,” Asami’s eyes softened, “you’re the best person I know.”

Perhaps in any other circumstances, the remark would’ve sent a great deal of heat to Korra’s face.

But, at the moment, it lit a fuse.

Korra turned on Asami.

“ _You_ stand in front of it.”

Asami balked.

“W-what?”

“You stand in front of it,” Korra repeated, stepping closer to Asami eagerly. “I don’t know anyone who’s more dedicated to setting things right than you.”

“I—I don’t think I’ll see what you want me to see,” Asami deflected. She refused to meet Korra’s eyes. “That—it’s not what you think—I…I don’t want to dis…disappoint you…”

There was something deeper there, in Asami’s hesitation; hesitation, beget by fear, irremediable scars from the past.

Korra could try.

“You won’t,” she said gently, squeezing Asami’s hands. “Even if you don’t see the stone, just trying would mean a lot to me.”

They were standing very close together now, Korra’s face just inches away from Asami’s; Korra was holding their intertwined hands to her chest, gazing at Asami hopefully—Asami, who looked too coy to meet her eyes.

A beat. Another moment of hesitation.

Finally, Asami gave in.

“All right,” she agreed weakly. “But that doesn’t mean we’re going after it.”

Korra nodded elatedly.

At this point, she hardly cared; just _knowing_ would put her at ease—put that nagging, searing insecurity that came roaring back every night to rest.

Asami tottered forward uncertainly. With a final glance back at Korra, she turned to face the mirror.

The look on Asami’s face almost made Korra want to break her promise.

Asami looked as though she had seen a ghost. No, it wasn’t quite that level of horror—just shock. Sheer, unparalleled shock. Something she’d perhaps entertained but never expected to see materialized before her.

“Err…I’m guessing it’s not the stone?” Korra piped up.

Asami, who’d been standing stock-still, almost as if petrified in disbelief, seemed to jerk back to reality at Korra’s voice. She blinked several times, still processing Korra’s question, before comprehension finally dawned on her, and she hung her head.

“I’m sorry…” Asami muttered dismally.

Korra’s face fell. “It’s all right.” She took a deep breath, and then smiled up at Asami, whose eyes hadn’t left the mirror. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, okay? Thanks for trying.”

Then, she was curious.

There was so much to the heiress she was only just discovering. Even if they’d become fast friends, there was so much Korra still had to learn about Asami, so much that a few months could hardly encompass—so many layers to Asami Sato that Korra had only just begun unraveling.

“Do you…see…your mum?” Korra guessed, feigning disinterest.

(It was a feeble attempt; there was a very distinct impression of piqued interest.)

When Asami didn’t answer, Korra peeked over her shoulder.

Asami’s gaze was distant, eyes glazed. She looked like a weary traveler who’d at last found the oasis he’d been searching for his entire life. The look of yearning on her face was so intense that Korra was afraid Asami would be sucked into the mirror altogether.

Then, her face softened, the ghost of a smile; it was a knowing one, a melancholic one, one that suggested resignation even before attempting.

Slowly, Asami shook her head.

“As much as I miss her…” Asami’s eyes began to water, “I don’t want her to see what my father has become.” Her face darkened. “What I…almost became.”

_Right._

Korra coughed uncomfortably.

Deciding now was perhaps the wrong time for that conversation, she asked instead, “Then, what do you see?”

Evidently, what Korra saw was different from what Asami was seeing. From this angle, all she could see was herself, a few feet behind Asami, gaping dumbly, while Asami gazed forward, paralyzed by what she saw, lips parted.

It took every fiber of Korra’s being to keep from prying.

At last, the heiress reached out and touched the mirror delicately, her fingertips just grazing the surface.

Asami smiled sadly.

“Something I can never have.”

From where Korra was standing, it looked as though she was touching Korra’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are probably going to be very, very lengthy from hereon out, so bear with me. I hope you understand the delay, it's very draining to organize and proofread so much content, and it's only going to get heavier.


	18. The Spirit Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a heavy chapter but the themes didn’t really make sense together, so enjoy another Korrasami chapter and a double update. Also, anything you don’t understand is probably a reference to RWBY because Volume 7 just dropped and I am in love.

In the absence of Potions, there’d been an advent of Occlumency lessons.

After experiencing the animosity directed at Korra firsthand, Tenzin had mandated that they meet three times a week to practice Occlumency. Of course, that also meant additional Legilimency lessons—this, at least, Korra could appreciate.

Nevertheless, despite how grueling Occlumency training was, Korra was grateful, for she was finally able to rest well. (She hadn’t had a single vision since the encounter in the Room of Requirement.) On one hand, she was slightly antsy, given that she’d grown accustomed to them, and couldn’t help but feel she was missing out on something crucial to their investigation; on the other, she’d never remembered her visions clearly enough to actually make a difference anyway.

There was something else eating away at her—the boy, the unnamed boy who, despite being an Equalist, had repelled her Legilimency—not only repelled it but managed to, at least temporarily, brainwash _her_.

_“He makes sure no Equalists learn Legilimency or Occlumency so he can control us.”_

Korra didn’t doubt Asami’s honesty. Rather, she was perplexed by how this lone Equalist had circumvented said rule, and cultivated such a power of his own.

She was deliberating this again on her way back from Tenzin’s classroom. Following the battle in the Room of Requirement, Tenzin seemed to have little regard for the holidays; thus, Korra found herself facing a three-hour Occlumency lesson on the very first day of break. While she recognized the significance of the task, she was still rather annoyed, for while she was stuck studying over break, Mako, Bolin, Kai, Opal, and the twins were playing Quidditch with snowballs.

Thoroughly miffed at being left out (though her friends didn’t really have a say in the matter, what against the interim Headmaster’s authority and all), Korra stormed through the courtyard, fully prepared to whine her way through supper when—

“Asami?”

Korra’s appraisal was correct—the raven head of hair snapped up. After gathering herself, Asami turned to grin sheepishly at Korra.

Smiling unconsciously, Korra approached the heiress.

“You aren’t seriously reading over break, are you?” she teased as she sat down beside Asami on the bench.

Asami had been pouring over a book in the Paved Courtyard; both decisions were beyond Korra (it’d been snowing relentlessly since November). Upon catching sight of Korra, Asami had jumped about a foot in the air, fumbled with her book, clasped it to her chest so Korra couldn’t see the title, and then turned bright pink.

“Err…” was the only response Korra got.

She laughed, to Asami’s added embarrassment. The heiress all but disappeared behind her book, which she was now holding inside-out, again, so Korra couldn’t see the title.

After a few moments of stifled giggling, Korra sobered, and then touched Asami’s shoulder gently.

“Never mind that—there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, if that’s all right,” she continued solemnly.

Recognizing the shift in mood, Asami lowered the book. Korra found it difficult to maintain a straight face, considering how endearing the image before her was: Asami, still quite red in the face, peeking out from behind an inside-out (and upside-down) book.

“What’s on your mind?” Asami asked, in a surprisingly even voice for how flustered she looked.

Korra rubbed the back of her neck.

“I hope it’s not too early to bring this up—I wanted to ask you sooner, but…y’know, I figured it was a touchy subject?” Asami stared at Korra, who realized she still had yet to even introduce the topic, and was soon just as pink as Asami. Clearing her throat, Korra clarified, “It’s about…err…y’know.”

Comprehension dawned on Asami’s face, and she set her book down completely. She glanced around surreptitiously (the courtyard was empty) before turning back to face Korra, gesturing for her to continue.

“It’s about that boy—the one who lead us to the Room of Requirement.” Asami immediately sat up straight. She was listening with rapt attention now. “He disappeared before you were done fighting off the others, and…I…” Korra sighed. “Dunno. I feel like I know him from somewhere—err, who he—she—whoever they really are.”

Asami frowned.

She was quiet for a moment, as though deliberating whether or not to disclose something to Korra.

At last, with a hesitant glance at Korra—

“I’m not entirely sure, so don’t quote me on this, but…I did hear something about having extra help at Hogwarts,” Asami admitted quietly.

Korra’s heart stopped.

“I didn’t think about it until now,” Asami continued, not having noticed Korra’s unease, “but it _was_ something my father talked to Amon about before we were stationed here.”

“They didn’t tell you anything?” Korra pressed anxiously.  

Her body had suddenly gone rigid.

Asami shook her head. “No, like I said: only the higher-ranking officers have all the—or at least, more—details regarding operations. No one agent ever knows too much, especially in case we get caught. They probably didn’t tell me in case that happened, so that they could still carry on with the mission in my absence. So, I’m not entirely sure what the situation is now, now that…” Asami paused suddenly, blinking. A beat. She cleared her throat, and finished quietly, “Now that my father is out of the picture.”

Korra nodded, though she couldn’t stop her face from screwing up in distress. While it was what she’d expected, it was far from what she actually wanted to hear.

“The reason I’m so paranoid about this is because, whoever they are, they managed to repel my Legilimency,” Korra confessed in a low voice.

Asami’s eyes widened.

“You’re joking.”

Korra shook her head. “It was…weird. When I looked into the boy’s eyes, not only did I not see anything— _he_ controlled _me_. It was just for a moment, but…I felt powerless. Like I was under some kind of trance. And I can’t help but feel like I’ve seen that, err, ability, somewhere before.”

Silence.

Asami looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

“That…that’s…that’s the first I’ve heard of an Equalist who knows Occlumency,” she managed to splutter out.

The girls were enveloped in another bout of disconcerted silence.

_If even Asami doesn’t know…we’re dealing with someone—something—big…_

After several moments, Korra exhaled deeply.

“Well, it’s just…something we need to think about going forward. We’ll be careful. It’ll be fine.” While Asami nodded in agreement, Korra herself wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

 _I just hope ‘extra help at Hogwarts’ doesn’t mean the extra help is actually_ at _Hogwarts…_

Shaking her head, Korra sighed again.

Then, her gaze fell on Asami’s book, which lay in her lap all but forgotten. Korra’s lips twitched.

Without warning—

“No, wait—” Asami protested but it was too late.

Korra leaned away, using one hand to block the heiress and the other to hold the book out of her reach.

“ _The Four Nations_ by General Iroh I?” she inquired, finally catching a glimpse of the title.

“Give it back,” Asami whined, both too fixated on the book to relinquish it and too timid to further infringe on Korra’s personal space to actually retrieve it.

Chuckling, Korra obliged, and Asami seized the proffered item before scrambling to the other side of the bench. Korra tilted her head at Asami, who had gone pink again. “Why are you reading this?”

Asami was clutching the book to her chest as though it were the last shred of her dignity.

She stole a glance at Korra and then looked away hastily. There was a very powerful impression of discomfiture, which only magnified when Korra managed to catch her eye.

“Asami?” she pressed gently.

The heiress sighed.

“I…I’ve been having nightmares,” she confessed.

Korra’s smile vanished.

“Since when?” she demanded, scooting closer to Asami.

(Her hand was on Asami’s shoulder—when had it gotten there?)

“Since the Room of Requirement,” Asami mumbled. She was now fiddling with the corner of one of the pages, refusing to make eye contact with Korra.

“About your…father?” Korra chanced carefully.

Asami exhaled deeply. “Yeah. It’s always a new dream, but same concept, I guess. Either he’s guilt-tripping me for what I did, or he won—I never made it in time—” she was speeding up as she went, talking faster and faster “—you lot were captured, and he’s laughing at me, because I can’t do elemental magic, because I couldn’t save you—”

Korra touched Asami’s face delicately, and the heiress fell silent.

“But you did save us,” she pointed out softly. “ _Without_ elemental magic.”

Asami lowered her eyes. “I know. It doesn’t make the ghosts go away, though.”

Korra knew the feeling too well.

Even if it wasn’t her fault, even if it wasn’t in her control, even if she didn’t know what it meant, Korra resented herself, more than anything, for not being the Chosen One the world deserved. The Chosen One _Asami_ deserved.

( _“You were wrong, Mother.”_ )

She lowered her hand and wrapped an arm around Asami’s shoulders instead. The heiress stiffened, but she didn’t resist when Korra pulled her closer, so that she was pressed against Korra’s side.

“I…I’ve never exhibited signs of being able to control an element—not even one,” Asami pressed on darkly. “Not earth, not fire, not water, and definitely not air. I’m a fucking disappointment—” catching sight of the look on Korra’s face, she sighed, and amended, “—fine, I know, most people can’t do it. But everyone expected _me_ to. My father, the Equalists, even Amon—”

Again, Asami’s voice was twisted with emotion, anguish, and she had to pause for a few moments before continuing.

“They were shocked that I, the prodigy, couldn’t do the one thing both of my parents are known for. _I_ was shocked that I couldn’t do the one thing both of my parents are known for—” Asami stopped abruptly. She looked as though she’d just realized something; then, she lowered her head and laughed bitterly, harshly. Glancing at Korra with a remorseful expression, she muttered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to trouble you with all this—”

“It’s okay to talk about it,” Korra murmured quietly. Asami stopped talking again; she froze, lips parted, eyes wide. “Your father. Your past. How you feel,” Korra continued, rubbing Asami’s shoulder. “You’re going through a lot right now, and it’s okay to feel this way…but that doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.”

Asami’s lips began quivering.

“Doesn’t it?” Her voiced cracked.

Korra shook her head. “I know you have to save face in front of the others—and that’s shit—but…not in front of me. So,” she met Asami’s eyes, “don’t. Let it out.”

Asami was quiet for several moments. Korra didn’t know what else to say, so she rubbed Asami’s shoulder gently, patiently.

Then—

“I feel like shit,” Asami said at last. “I can’t stop thinking about my father. I can’t stop thinking about what I did. I know I did the right thing. But I can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to say to me when he sees me again—” she laughed mirthlessly. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it? This is all just a time bomb. At some point, we’re going to face him—face _Amon_ —” Asami’s voice cracked again “—and this is all going to catch up to me.”

The truth of Asami’s words hit Korra like a tidal wave, and for a moment, she too found herself lost to its currents, drowning in fear, submerged in the darkest ocean…

A pause.

Respite.

There, in the midst of yawning shadows, the sunlight hit her—a figure in the distance: Asami. Korra swam towards her, took her hand, and they kicked off towards the surface.

Korra waited to see if Asami would continue.

When she didn’t, Korra declared, voice brimming with quiet determination, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Asami blinked. Her eyes had been watering, she was just on the cusp of what must’ve been one of many breakdowns—but she froze at what Korra said. Glanced at her, eyes trembling, in shock.

“Like I said: I’ll protect you. No matter what,” Korra vowed. Then, she lowered her head and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m trying my best, but I still feel like I haven’t been there enough for you lately. I didn’t know if I should bring this up—I didn’t know if you would—I kept waiting, but…maybe that was my mistake.”

It was—and it had been haunting Korra. Behind all the anxiety of the stone, of Amon, of Tarrlok, lay the burning question of what to do about Asami. Asami, who was hurt beyond repair, whose wounds were being reopened over and over again, accompanied by new ones—by the very people she strove to protect.

And Korra didn’t know how to make the bleeding stop.

“You’ve done a lot for me,” Asami replied. “More than I—”

“You deserve better,” Korra cut her off quickly. “And I haven’t done enough.”

Asami was quiet again. Blinking, staring at Korra. Then—

“It’s not your responsibility to take care of me,” she countered.

“I know. But I want to,” Korra retorted firmly, effectively silencing Asami.

The heiress gazed at Korra unfathomably. For a fleeting moment, her expression mirrored the one she wore before the Mirror of Erised.

Then, she sighed, turning her attention to the sky.

“Things are so different now,” Asami said finally.

They were. A lifetime ago, Asami was the most popular girl at school, and Korra was the socially inept nobody who was jealous of her best friend’s girlfriend. Now, people were starting to take notice of Korra as some sort of unofficial protector (Finn, perhaps Tahno…), and Asami had fallen to the bottom of the social hierarchy overnight. Things were certainly different now. And this truth sat in Korra’s stomach like gravel.

“Yeah, they are,” Korra agreed.

They were quiet for several moments, Korra, gazing at the snow, which hugged the courtyard like a blanket, masking centuries of wear and tear, and Asami, gazing at the sky, which seemed intent on snowing through the night. Then, Asami leaned into Korra’s embrace, and Korra could scarcely focus on anything at all.

Though initially disheartened by the low number of occupants, Korra was now grateful that most of the student body had gone home this year. While the lack of students correlated with a very diluted holiday experience, there’d been a marked reduction in the discrimination Asami faced since break started; it was virtually nonexistent at this point, and Korra couldn’t be more relieved. Even better, no Slytherins had remained at the castle this year (save for Weiss Schnee, though she was perhaps the one Slytherin that got along with Asami, having shared similar experiences as heiresses to multi-billion galleon companies).

Korra broke the silence first.

She sighed, glancing sideways at Asami. “Listen, I’m sorry about…how much things have changed.”

She didn’t need to elaborate for Asami to know what she was talking about.

“It’s okay,” the heiress replied dismissively. “That was never my goal, anyway—being popular.”

Korra glanced at Asami in surprise. “ _Really?_ ” Asami raised an eyebrow. Korra quickly averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “Right, no, err—popularity is overrated.”

Asami laughed. “Sounds like it was someone else’s goal, though,” she teased.

“No,” Korra insisted, pouting. “I just…” she sighed, growing solemn. “You know I’ve always had a hard time fitting in, so…I never thought that someone who did would not want it.”

Asami’s face softened.

“I get it. And it’s not that I _didn’t_ want it, I guess I just…didn’t really care about that?” Asami explained, glancing up at the sky again. “I didn’t think it was important. Not really, anyway. All I really wanted was to spend time with—”

Asami stopped talking abruptly, eyes as wide as saucers.

Korra stared.

She didn’t have to peek—didn’t have to pry, didn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to know who Asami was referring to. Her heart skipped a beat.

Asami stole a glance at Korra and then immediately looked away. She had gone as stiff as a rod.

Korra’s lips twitched—and she was soon smiling so widely her face hurt. She turned away, so Asami wouldn’t see, but there was no hiding her delight; Korra felt as if she was flying on the best broomstick in the world, her heart as open as the skies, brimming with warmth.

As much as Korra wanted to squeeze Asami’s shoulder or pull her closer (physically impossible at this point), she refrained from doing so, knowing it would only add to Asami’s mortification.

 “You all know elemental magic, don’t you?” Asami inquired, changing the subject. She had begun fiddling with her book again—wouldn’t look at Korra.

Korra blinked.

“Err, not all of us. Nowhere close. Just me and the boys—and apparently Tenzin and Lin,” she added as an afterthought.

Asami nodded. Kept fiddling with the book. Stole a glance at Korra.

“How did you…?”

“It was an accident,” Korra admitted. “We were playing Quidditch in Tenzin’s backyard one summer—about a year-and-a-half ago? Wei and Mako were having a row about some play and then Mako set Wei’s eyebrow on fire.” Asami, who’d been listening intently, burst out laughing. “I panicked and waved my wand at his face—hit him with a jet of water.”

Asami only laughed harder at this.

When she’d calmed down enough to speak again, she asked, “And Bolin?”

“He panicked and threw rocks at Mako.”

Asami started laughing again.

“Maybe I need a dumb situation to unlock my powers, too,” she joked, still chortling.

Korra, who couldn’t be more relieved that Asami had approached the subject with an air of humor rather than her usual self-deprecation, beamed widely. She nudged Asami’s shoulder with her own and replied, “Knowing you, it’s going to be some cool, dramatic situation that makes the rest of us look lame.”

Asami rolled her eyes and nudged Korra back playfully.

“And if not…” the heiress sighed, and lowered her gaze to the tome on her lap, “at least I can learn lightning redirection. Lord Zuko wasn’t the best at elemental magic either, but he learned lightning redirection from Iroh. So,” she wiggled the book, “I’ve been trying to study the technique as well—”

“You know literally nobody has been able to cast lightning since Azula—which was sixty some years ago—right?” Korra pointed out. “So, what’s the point?”

Asami looked as if she’d been hit over the head. She blinked rapidly, rubbed her shoulder (Korra had never seen Asami do that before—had she picked it up from _her_?). “I…I mean, you’re not wrong. I just wanted to help—”

“You are literally the biggest help we have and will ever receive,” Korra countered immediately.

Asami blinked. Then, she laughed—bells and chimes—and Korra found herself smiling again.

“You’re right,” Asami retorted cheekily, shutting the book, and Korra’s smile widened.

She squeezed Asami’s shoulder and then tilted her head towards the Great Hall.

“C’mon—let’s go eat. Wiggles told me the elves are preparing something special for the first day of break.”

 

* * *

 

Although frustrated that they were no closer to determining the stone’s functions (read, Korra’s abilities and responsibilities) than they had been before stumbling upon the mirror, Korra had no choice but to move on. Amon had no means of getting to it, and, for the time being, neither did they. Moreover, there was no telling what would happen once they obtained the stone, no telling what they—what _she_ was supposed to do. Removing it from the faculty’s protection would likely endanger it further—and without a clear understanding of how to use the stone, it certainly would.

Thus, Korra had been forced to concede to the fact that Asami was correct—for the time being.

After all, the Mirror of Erised—as well as the third floor itself—seemed to have vanished entirely following Korra and Asami’s reconnaissance mission. Mako and Bolin had followed suit to verify the girls’ findings—only to discover that there was nothing to find. Korra had gone to ascertain this for herself the following night, and to her dismay, realized that the brothers were right. Both doors were gone—even the entrance to the third floor itself—and in their place, lay a blank wall; it was almost as though the third floor had never existed in the first place.

Korra had a sneaking suspicion that Tenzin had caught on, that the faculty had modified the stone’s fortifications in response to their ‘vigilante’ behavior, as Tenzin put it. However, she was also forced to recognize the impracticality of her aspiration—no, her _obsession_ with the stone, and that this was, all in all, perhaps for the best.

It was still on her mind, of course, as it had been all of break, but with Christmas on its final approach, Korra decided to relent for now. Her friends deserved to enjoy the holidays, and despite the uncertainty of it all, she wanted to, as well. (Who knew how many more Christmases they’d have like this—if at all?)

After all, Tenzin and Bumi had finally gotten around to decorating the castle. By the second day of break, the castle had seen a drastic overnight transformation. Korra awoke to hallways adorned with mistletoe, holly, and floating candles, fir trees decked with enchanted ornaments that squeaked or spoke to you if you touched them lining the Great Hall, and, as Wiggles had promised, an extraordinary holiday menu. Muggle Christmas carols were being blasted through the corridors at all hours of the day; Korra had been baffled at first, given that most muggle technology didn’t work at Hogwarts—only to discover that Bumi had trained an army of Wood Nymphs to sing Christmas music. At the end of the day, the lack of inhabitants had lent to an ambience something like a private party for their friend group, and Korra couldn’t find reason to complain. (The Beifongs had opted to remain at Hogwarts for the holidays as well, as all members of the faculty were required to stay for security purposes—in addition to the perpetually growing list of errands.)

There was also a marked absence of prefects and aurors accompanying the holiday season. However, a number of task force members had stayed behind, perhaps partially at Tarrlok’s bidding—truly, to protect Hogwarts—but mostly, Korra suspected, to protect themselves. Hogwarts, even considering the current state of affairs, was the safest place in the world; where else could purebloods seek refuge?  

Nevertheless, while the emergency security protocol was still in effect, the lack of disciplinarians made it much more difficult for these measures to actually be enforced. Tenzin had entirely given up on the trio (and Opal) acting like proper prefects—had given up, in effect, on the first day of break, when he was walking to his office after curfew and found Korra, Opal, and Bolin engaged in a snowball fight on broomsticks, Mako, Wing, and Wei enchanting snowballs to chase the younger students around (Jinora, Ikki, and Kai), and Asami reading on a bench, smiling up at him apologetically. He’d stalked off, grumbling to himself. (The growing bump on Pema’s stomach probably did nothing to help.)

All this was, of course, also supplemented by secret Hogsmeade trips (mostly out of spite, at the reasonable but still unwelcome ban), kitchen raids, and the use of the Prefects’ Bathroom as the venue for a pool party.

Amongst their numerous infractions, perhaps the most prominent one was the restriction pertaining to the Common Rooms: Bolin and Asami weren’t technically allowed in the Gryffindor Common Room, as Mako and Korra weren’t allowed in theirs. But the faculty was overwhelmed with a number of things, and being that Mako, Korra, and Bolin were three of the eight prefects that had stayed for break, with Opal, Blake (a Ravenclaw), and Yang (a Gryffindor) constantly infringing on this rule themselves, Weiss (a Slytherin) who cared too much, and Ruby (a Hufflepuff) who didn’t care at all, the two had faced little difficulty overcoming this impediment. Moreover, of the Gryffindors, only Kai and the twins had remained at Hogwarts for break; if anything, they vehemently supported this forbidden endeavor. (There was a handful of others, but they were too passive or disinterested to report Bolin and Asami.)

They (Korra, Bolin, and Asami) were in the Gryffindor Common Room at the very moment, huddled by the fire as they waited for Mako to join them. Today was the twenty-first—Mako’s eighteenth birthday—but, as always, he’d insisted on not making a big deal out of the affair.

 _“No gifts,” he’d grumbled, when Korra had asked what he wanted for his birthday._ “ _Eighteen isn’t even a big birthday.”_

_Asami had looked horrified by this statement, to Korra and Bolin’s bemusement._

_“Eighteen is one of the biggest birthdays there is!” she’d protested._

_“In America?” Bolin had inquired curiously._

_Asami had sighed in resignation. “No—never mind.”_

_“For muggles?” Korra had asked gently._

_Asami had cracked into a little smile at this._

_“Yeah. It’s like our—I guess, their—coming-of-age birthday.”_

_“Well, I’m not a muggle, so it’s still not a big birthday,” Mako had retorted, busying himself with dinner once again. “No gifts.”_

_“Please tell me we’re at least doing something fun this year,” Bolin had griped. “We didn’t even do anything last year for your actual big birthday.”_

_“Ugh, fine…we can…we can go out for drinks or something,” Mako had conceded, to his companions’ sheer delight._

However, his birthday couldn’t excuse him from Head Boy duties—especially with the absence of prefects—so the trio spent the first half of Mako’s birthday without him. Bolin and Asami were engaged in a match of Wizard’s Pai Sho as usual, with Asami boasting an undefeated record. Korra had lost count of how many games they’d played at this point.

 _Of course, she’s good at this too,_ Korra had thought to herself. But she was smiling.

Bolin seemed to have an infinite capacity for defeat, for he kept insisting on another round—or best majority—but the fraction seemed to keep rising. Korra didn’t mind, she was enjoying herself.

“Aren’t you bored?” Asami asked eventually, glancing down at Korra. The latter was sitting on the floor, knees hugged to her chest, resting her head on Asami’s lap.

Korra, who’d been absentmindedly gazing at Asami, jumped when the heiress’s attention shifted to her.

“O-oh—err, no,” she stammered. “I’m having fun watching.”

Asami raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know the rules of Pai Sho?”

“Err…”

Asami smirked, and Korra turned beet-red.

“Asami, it’s _your_ turn!” Bolin whined.

Asami chuckled and returned her attention to the game, leaving Korra to stew in mortification.

At this point, Bolin’s hair was sticking up in all directions, a product of him wringing his hands through his hair in (frequent) bouts of distress; he looked like an overgrown toddler, as he hadn’t bothered to change out of his matching pajamas before heading to the Common Room. Asami, on the other hand, had at least changed into socially acceptable clothing, though, sweatpants and a dark, skin-fitting long-sleeved shirt was far from what Korra had expected the heiress to wear on her off days.

Korra still thought she looked dizzyingly beautiful–hadn’t been able to stop thinking so, as she stared, for the better part of a dozen Pai Sho games.

Normally, Korra _would_ be bored—bored at the lack of Quidditch practice (though Mako had taken her flying on some days), bored at the general lack of stimulation, even bored at the lack of schoolwork. But, this year, Korra was more than happy to lounge around doing nothing, overeating and oversleeping—a much-needed respite from the chaos of the year thus far. The more she indulged in indolence, the less she cared about her duties; who wanted to return to such a demanding and uncertain state of being?

(She knew she had to eventually.)

Normally, Korra _would_ be bored; whenever Bolin and Asami played Wizard’s Pai Sho before, Korra would busy herself with a mound of otherwise untouched homework or _Quidditch Throughout the Ages_. But, right now, she was content to watch the two play—mostly, watch Asami play.

Getting to see this side of Asami—amongst many other sides of Asami—over break was more rewarding than any achievement could be. There were so many little things Korra had learned about her—had come to treasure—like the fact that Asami kept all of her food separate on her plate (the House table rule was also being blatantly disobeyed) but almost always had a messy desk. Or the fact that Asami dog-eared her books, even though she was a bookworm who otherwise defended the integrity of all written media with the ferocity of a mother bear. Or the fact that Asami braided her hair before bed. (She’d offered to let Korra do it once, but that had ended in absolute disaster, and was never repeated again.)

There were other things—things that Korra was discovering at the very moment. The fact that Asami pushed her glasses up on her nose before making a move, every time, without fail, or the fact that she stuck her tongue out when deep in thought. It was endearing, filled Korra’s heart, and she found herself utterly enamored.

Korra didn’t think Asami wore glasses—didn’t even know she wore contacts—but had woken up the third or fourth day of break to find the heiress waiting for her outside the Common Room, yawning, boasting a pair of black, square-rimmed glasses. They framed her face well, accentuating the defined lines of her cheekbones and her jaw, and drew attention to her eyes, which, Korra found, didn’t require maquillage to be stunning.

Speaking of which, Asami wasn’t wearing any makeup at the moment either. Her bare face was delicate, much softer than the intense beauty Korra had gotten accustomed to, but alluring in its own right. Asami, with the hue of the fire against the rose of her cheeks, complexion soft, golden—ethereal.

She had pulled her hair up into a messy bun, and actually almost looked like an American teenager—but there was still something too mature about her, something wise and powerful, beyond her years. There was a smoldering intensity in her gaze as she calculated her next move, and Korra found Asami’s tactical prowess oddly…enticing?

_What?_

Korra didn’t have time to dwell on this.

The portrait swung open with a _bang_ that reverberated throughout the Common Room. Mako stumbled in, complaining under his breath about the weather.

“Finally!” Bolin groaned, rising to his feet. “Now we can celebrate!”

Asami snorted. “You’re just happy you don’t have to watch yourself get beat again.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bolin shot back, with all the maturity of a four-year-old.

“No time for that now,” Mako interrupted both of them, taking off his gloves.

Bolin immediately pouted. “You said we’d do something this year—”

“We will, but get a load of this,” Mako cut him off again, crossing the room swiftly. He stopped before them, tugged off his satchel, and slammed a book down on the Pai Sho board with purpose.

(“Mate—not my board!”)

Asami peered at the title and then raised an eyebrow at Mako.

“ _My Journey Through the Spirit World_ by General Iroh I?” she inquired.

Meanwhile—

“WHAT?”

Korra had leapt to her feet and was staring at Mako in exasperation. Mako, who’d been completely unprepared for the outburst, jumped back, arms raised defensively.

“What?” he echoed, in a much milder pitch.

“ _You_ had this? All this time?” Korra demanded, twisting a hand through her hair in distress.

“Err, yeah?”

“UGH!” Korra groaned, facepalming. “I’ve been waiting for this to be returned to the library for over three months!”

Mako wasn’t very sympathetic.

“Head Boy privileges,” he replied with a shrug, to Korra’s added frustration.

“You could’ve at least _told_ me you had it—” Korra exhaled deeply, realizing that getting Mako to admit fault was like pulling teeth “—okay, fine, whatever. What did you discover, your highness?”

Bolin and Asami snorted.

Mako rolled his eyes. Ignoring Korra’s gibe, he flipped the book open to the passage Korra had been pouring over an eternity ago, when Asami was still Mako’s girlfriend, when Korra still feared Asami. How ironic, that her fears had proven correct, and yet, the reality of it was much more benign than Korra could’ve ever conceived.

“Read this,” Mako ordered as he fumbled with his satchel in search of something else.

They obliged.

_In my youth, I believed the spirits were a product of superstition–something spread by the Tibetan monks to dissuade invaders. However, I soon learned they were real–and had a powerful stake in the wizarding world through Divination. Moreover, I learned that humans themselves possessed a bit of spiritual energy–their souls, the very vessels of their magic–and that the most powerful of wizards could allow this essence to be manifested physically in the form of an artefact._

_However, I have only witnessed this phenomenon once, executed by none other than Aang the Chosen._

“I knew it!” Bolin whispered to himself.

_Aang the Chosen harnessed his very spirit in the form of a stone shortly before passing away. He then used this Spirit Stone to magnify his magic, to the likes of which, wizardkind has never witnessed before._

“So, the stone is Aang’s!” Korra cried eagerly. “What’s it do? How do I use it?”

Mako shook his head. “No idea. That’s all it says…I don’t think Iroh knew that much—he’s probably one of the only people who knows it exists, if anything.”

Korra immediately deflated.

“But get this,” Mako continued, producing a torn piece of parchment. He unraveled it and spread it on the Pai Sho board to reveal—the prophecy. “Re-read this bit—”

Bolin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait, he vanished and returned ‘a living ghost’? Is Aang a ghost?” he gasped.

Mako, who had evidently been pointing to a different line, pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, you moron—it’s talking about how he was trapped in ice for a century.”

This didn’t have the desired effect.

“He was trapped in ice? For a century?” Bolin repeated, looking about as enlightened as he did before his morning coffee.

“Isn’t that, like, basic knowledge?” (Korra was impressed—and amused—by Asami’s impersonation of an American.)

Bolin’s face lit up. “Wow, that’s so cool! Like Captain America!”

“Would you lot focus here?” Mako snapped, exasperated. Bolin and Asami grinned sheepishly. Sighing, Mako pointed at a line a few above the one Bolin had been reading, and recited, “‘One with the power to tear the world apart, He comes wielding a weapon beyond us all.’ It’s talking about the Spirit Stone, isn’t it?”

“So, we were right,” Asami deduced, exchanging a glance with Korra. “It does have to do with power.”

Mako nodded. Then, he glanced at Korra with an apologetic expression. “I don’t think it does what you were hoping for…”

Korra, who’d arrived at this conclusion herself, nodded forlornly.

Unsure of how to approach consolation, Mako rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly instead.

After a beat, he pressed on, “Anyway, this basically confirms our worst fears—if Amon gets his hands on the stone, he can take away magic on a wide scale. For good.”

Deathly silence followed this revelation.

It was an unpleasant one—perhaps the worst Korra had ever experienced. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and there was a searing pain in her chest—fear? Concern? The resignation that accompanied the affirmation of something one had anticipated but hoped would never be realized?

Whatever it was, it was mirrored on her companions’ faces—all grim, mute with the burden of this knowledge—this irrefutable, seemingly insurmountable truth that threatened to consume them all.

“Can just anyone use it?” Bolin asked at last. “The stone?”

(His voice was shaking tremendously.)

“Amon said he needed the Chosen One, so…I doubt it. Maybe not right away, at least,” Korra answered, sounding braver than she felt.

Asami nodded. “We should focus on keeping _you_ safe right now,” she looked pointedly at Korra, “since you’re the key to this stone.”

It was a very logical, matter-of-fact conclusion, and yet, Korra found herself very red in the face. She nodded coyly, unable to meet Asami’s gaze.

Mako looked slightly irritated for some reason. “ _And_ work on finding out more about how it’s connected to you and your abilities without breaking into the Ministry,” he huffed. “There’s got to be another way to find out the rest of that prophecy.”

The others nodded gravely.

“I’ve been rereading the first half, trying to figure out if we can at least get some context clues but—” Mako sighed, effectively ending that train of thought and any hope with it.

Recognizing the unspoken plea for ideas, Asami piped up, “We can maybe start by summarizing what we know?”

Mako looked startled by Asami’s willingness to help—and then, perhaps a little embarrassed.

“Good idea,” he agreed. He kneeled beside Korra and pulled the prophecy to the center of the Pai Sho board. “So, this bit is obviously talking about Sozin and his descendants,” he pointed at the beginning of the document, “the whole ‘A new Dark Lord,’ and ‘He’ll leave a line of monsters to rule in his stead’ business. I can’t sort out the next part though—”

“Aang was an air mage, right?” Asami interrupted.

Mako glanced up in surprise. “Yeah, he was.”

Asami scooted closer to him and pointed at the same set of lines. “‘One with the sky, a man of heart,’” she recited and then glanced back at Mako. “It’s probably about his element and his house—Hufflepuff?”

Mako’s face brightened. “Yeah, that’s right! I think you’re onto something!” he cried excitedly.

Asami chuckled. “We probably don’t need to analyze the next part—we already know the Chosen One can use all four elements, and we now know that the ‘weapon’ is the stone, which magnifies the Chosen One’s magic, in some shape or form.” Her finger moved farther down the prophecy. “This part—the being ‘bound by the same core’—that’s—?”

“About the connection between their wands,” Mako supplied. “Aang and Ozai shared a wand core.” He tilted his head at Korra, and added, “So does this one with Amon, apparently. That’s how he’s been reaching her with Legilimency.”

 _Luckily, not anymore,_ Korra thought to herself.

“Okay, so, what we know from this is that Korra can hypothetically, assuming this prophecy lines up with her as well, be contacted by Aang—although we don’t know if she can contact him or not—control all four elements, wield the Spirit Stone, see into Amon’s mind, and use Legilimency–err, wait,” Asami paused, eyes scanning over the prophecy quickly. “It doesn’t say anything about Aang being a Legilimens. Was Aang a Legilimens?”

Mako shook his head.

“Do we know how this happened? You suddenly unlocking Legilimency?” he inquired, glancing at Korra, who also shook her head.

“All right, let’s put that on the backburner for now,” Asami remarked before glancing up at them. “Is that everything related to the Chosen One?”

For the most part, Korra and Bolin had been rotating between listening to Mako or Asami, fervently wishing for such harmony on a more regular basis; at last, Korra had something to contribute.

“There’s one more thing. Err…I noticed whenever I get really, really, really crossed—or my life is at risk—” Korra gazed at Asami meaningfully “—I become extra powerful.” (The look didn’t escape Mako, to Korra’s horror, but he didn’t comment on it.) “That’s the only time I’ve ever been able to use all four elements, but, beyond that, my aura absolutely explodes in magnitude…it feels like I’m controlling aura that isn’t...just mine?”

The brothers exchanged a wordless glance.

“Do you think it has something to do with Aang?” Mako suggested, glancing back at Korra. “Like how he can contact you, maybe he can…pass his power on to you, too?”

It wasn’t an absurd idea. Korra found that the feeling was comparable to having her own aura combined with that of several others, as though generations of witches and wizards were channeling their power through her.

“It’s possible,” Korra agreed. “And…maybe…maybe the stone is my key to channeling this power?”

“That makes sense!” Asami chimed in eagerly. “That’s why Amon would need you—err, if that is what it does. You could overpower him!”

A moment of restless quiet; everyone exchanged gleeful looks, revitalized by the glimmer of hope.

“So, what now?” Bolin asked finally.

“So now we need to think about how Amon plans on using this stone if only the Chosen One can wield it, and figure out what exactly the stone can do—how to use it. That’ll help us figure out where to go from here,” Mako replied.

“And,” Korra interjected, “how I’m connected to Aang. We’re both the ‘Chosen One,’ but what does that even mean?”

Mako nodded in acknowledgement. “That too. Maybe that’s in the missing half, but at least we know what to focus on now.”

With that, he started rolling up the prophecy.

Korra couldn’t help but feel elated at the prospect; so much of their research had been headless hunting, mindless mining. At last, they had direction—and, if she was being generous—an end goal in sight.

“Is that it for today?” Asami inquired, rising to her feet and stretching.

Mako nodded, depositing both the tome and the prophecy back into his satchel. “I think the stone is safe, at least for now. Amon can’t get to it while it’s under the professors’ protection.” A pause. He cleared his throat. Then, without looking at Asami, he muttered in a barely audible voice, “Err, thanks, by the way. For helping.”

Korra and Bolin’s jaws dropped.

Mako had both apologized to and thanked Asami within a span of two weeks—an unprecedented occurrence, perhaps in his entire life.

Asami blinked. She looked surprised—then relieved.

“No worries. Glad I could help,” Asami replied, obviously amused by Mako’s discomfiture. 

Mako coughed loudly in response.

Another pause.

Then, he faced the other two with the hint of a smile. “We should get going—we have a birthday to celebrate.”

Even though Korra cheered with the others, even though she joined them in badgering Mako with an unprompted birthday song, even though she led them through a secret passageway to Hogsmeade, her mind was still on the stone.

Amon might be temporarily deterred, but there was at least one other person Korra could think of that merited her attention.


	19. The Nightmare Before Christmas

Mako’s birthday, while uneventful, had been a delightful respite from recent events, filled with laughter, stories, and an abundance of underage drinking. Unfortunately, all four (even the birthday boy himself, who had a rather strong tolerance) found themselves nursing nasty hangovers for the next few days. After a rough Christmas Eve, Korra was more than ready for an all-out Christmas celebration.

Only, by the time Korra woke up, the girls’ dormitory was completely deserted, and she suspected even the boys had given up waiting on her at this point. That didn’t dampen her spirit, however, and she found herself humming “Last Christmas” as she changed into the homemade Christmas sweater Pema had gifted her last year (she was expecting another shortly).

The Glacier Sprits Festival was the only occasion Korra had ever been allowed to engage in behavior appropriate to her age as a child—the only occasion she’d ever been allowed to freely mingle with the people of her tribe—hence, cultivating a love for celebration. This love had only intensified upon Korra’s arrival at Hogwarts, with feasts and festivities year-round. Of course, nothing could top Christmas (which she’d only learned of at Hogwarts), the celebration of all things Korra cherished most dearly.

Thus, when she caught sight of a quiff waiting for her by the stairwell, Korra all but slid down the railing, sprang off the end with a great leap, and bellowed, “IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Only Mako was entirely unprepared to catch her, and they were sent tumbling into a nearby armchair.

“Ouch—Korra, seriously?” Mako grumbled from underneath her. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What d’you mean? I’m always like this on Christmas!” Korra replied cheerfully.

She leaned back on her arms to grin at Mako. He was wearing a plain black sweater and dark jeans, yet somehow, the simplicity of his outfit lent to his charm; he looked dashing.

“This handsy?” Mako asked scathingly—though, for all his judgment, he wouldn’t look directly at her.

Korra tilted her head. “Err, is that a problem?”

She didn’t see why it would be, considering they’d spent the better part of their childhood together and physical contact was an everyday occurrence.

Except Mako’s eyes widened at the question and he quickly averted his gaze. “No—I just—err—” his eyes darted all around the room “—n-never mind. Let’s go eat.”

He scrambled out from under her and made for the portrait hole without waiting for a reply.

Korra wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but the tip of Mako’s ears seemed pinker than usual.

“Finally! It’s almost three!” Bolin whined upon catching sight of the pair.

(Korra was grateful they’d waited at all.)

“Don’t look at me,” Mako muttered.

“I bet someone slept in again,” Asami chuckled huskily, and Korra turned as pink as Mako.

Asami was wearing her glasses again, complemented by a light layer of make-up, and Korra found herself staring again—as she did often these days. It didn’t help that Asami was wearing—actually, her outfit wasn’t all that gaudy; she had her hair down and had paired this look with a baby blue scarf, an off-white cashmere sweater, and dark denim jeans. It was a perfect foil to Bolin, who, like Korra, was also sporting the Christmas sweater Pema had gifted him last year—only paired with unicorn pajama bottoms and fluffy slippers.

“Ugh, all the food is going to be gone by now!” Bolin griped as they started lumbering towards the Great Hall.

“Why don’t you ever wear actual clothes?” Mako replied unsympathetically.

Bolin scowled at his brother. “At least I don’t pour three kilos of hair product in my hair every morning—”

Meanwhile—

“Did you sleep okay?” Korra asked Asami softly, brushing her forearm.

Asami smiled.

Korra had accompanied Asami to the astronomy tower last night—following a bout of night terror on Asami’s part. They’d all fallen asleep in the Common Room, Asami on the couch, Korra, on the floor, her head nestled between her own arm and Asami’s, Mako, on an armchair, and Bolin, face-down on the floor; Korra, the lightest sleeper, had awoken to what began as mumbling, followed by sobbing, kicking, screaming—

Deciding Asami needed some privacy, she’d roused the heiress and lead her to the astronomy tower, where a soft, murmured conversation melted into an amicable silence, warm with pleasant company. They’d stayed up there for perhaps an hour longer than necessary, gazing at the stars until the sun started to peek over the horizon. (Though, Korra had caught herself gazing at Asami more often than the stars; she wanted to believe it was out of concern.)

“Yeah, I did. Thank you, again,” Asami murmured, glancing up at Korra from underneath her eyelashes, eyes shimmering with something intimate and intense.

“N-no problem,” Korra stammered, looking away. Her gaze fell on Mako and Bolin, who, at this point, were wrestling in the middle of the Entrance Hall. “You do realize you’re prefects…”

“I have honor and I will not be dissuaded until I attain utter and absolute victor—OW! No fair, that’s cheating!”

Mako didn’t seem to think so, smirking as he turned back to the girls.

Then, his eyes widened.

“Ma’am—I didn’t see you there—”

Korra and Asami whirled around to find Lin standing behind them, arms folded across her chest, regarding Mako with an austere expression.

“Upholding your image as Head Boy, I see,” she remarked coolly.

However, Korra couldn’t take her seriously, for, to her absolute and immense disbelief, Lin was sporting a green Christmas sweater emblazoned with a…fairy. Mako hadn’t noticed, but Asami evidently had, for she caught Korra’s eye and then turned away promptly, stifling her laughter.

 “I—err, just roughhousing with the little brother—sorry ma’am,” Mako spluttered. “Won’t happen again.”

Lin raised an eyebrow. “Like your inter-House sleepovers?”

Korra and Asami stopped laughing immediately.

(They’d woken Bolin as soon as they’d return to the Common Room, but apparently the evacuation had come too late.)

Bolin managed to tug his head out of the suit of armor at last, grumbling to himself.

“Mako, that was _not_ —oh! Professor Beifong! Top of the morning to ya!” he squeaked, catching sight of Lin. “Merry Christmas!”

Lin glowered at him, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Silence.

Then, she tilted her head, and the edges of her lips twitched.

“Merry Christmas, you lot.”

With that, Lin strode off.

The quartet stared after her.

“That…that can’t be it,” Korra managed to sputter out.

“Maybe she’s just…with the holiday spirit?” Asami suggested.

Bolin was gazing intently at the spot Lin had just vacated. “She’s going to kidnap us, hold us for ransom, and when no one comes because nobody loves us, she’ll sell us for parts—"

“Okay, let’s eat,” Mako sighed.

Korra couldn’t quite decide what she was most excited for: the feast or the gifts.

Admittedly, it was the latter—she’d been working on Asami’s gift for months. Korra had taken up the endeavor in October, and then stopped abruptly in November, following the incident at Hogsmeade; however, she’d been unable to bring herself to throw the gift away. Following their reconciliation, Korra had begun working on it again frantically, only just managing to finish it in time. It was currently sitting in her trunk under her bed.

_If only I studied with as much passion._

They’d decided to do gifts after the feast, as they always did, considering professors couldn’t exactly be seen exchanging presents with students. So, for now, Korra decided to focus her attention on the feast, making a mental note to pick up the gift from her parents from the owlery later (Christmas gifts were usually delivered directly to students, but given the current state of affairs, mail was being checked more thoroughly than ever).

“Wow,” Korra breathed when they entered the Great Hall.

Although the adornments Bumi and Tenzin had arranged had been hanging for a few days now, Suyin had really outdone herself this year. The decorations for Christmas Day were almost always overseen by Suyin, and Korra suspected this year was no different, given the creative limitations of the brothers. The walls of the Great Hall had been replaced by a glittering, glossy material that looked something like liquid silver, shimmering under the light of the floating candles. Festoons of mistletoe had been strung across the ceiling, hanging over each of the four House tables like forbidden temptations. The rows of fir trees had been substituted for one grand Christmas tree, which stood proudly in the middle of the hall, robed in layer after layer of singing ornaments, actual gnomes (who were chittering in discontent), and sparkling icicles, topped off with a brilliantly glowing star that changed colors. Behind the High Table hovered Bumi’s army of Wood Nymphs, presently crooning “All I Want for Christmas is You.” This was all complemented by the enchanted ceiling, which was snowing merrily. The ambience was so jolly that Korra had all but forgotten the recent atrocities.

She stole a glance at Asami, whose lips had been parted in awe for the better part of a minute.

“Is it like this every year?” she asked once she’d managed to compose herself. (She still looked dazed.)

Korra nodded, grinning. Then, she took Asami’s hand, threw an arm around Bolin’s shoulders, and dragged her friends to the Gryffindor table (Mako trailing behind), where—

“There you lot are! You’re two hours late!” Wei complained.

“We were held up by someone,” Mako explained, with a pointed look at Korra, who grinned unabashedly.

“I thought as much,” Wing chuckled and then beamed at Korra. “Hey, champ. Wei wanted to use an Electric Shock Shake on you—you’re lucky I didn’t let him.”

“Lame,” Wei interjected through a mouthful of possum chicken.

Korra laughed. “Maybe next year.”

Suyin wasn’t the only one who’d excelled this year: the Christmas feast was as lavish as Korra had ever seen it. Hundreds of roast ducks, mountains of bao and various dumplings, goblets filled with butterbeer, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, egg nog, bubbling cider, and lychee juice, golden platters piled high with dishes from all over the world—bison steak, braised turtle-duck, puffin-seal sausages, mashed potatoes, shepherd’s pies—silver cauldrons brimming with rich, savory sauces and five-flavor soup, all of which, made it into Korra’s stomach within the first ten minutes of sitting down. Dinner—or was it lunch, Korra didn’t particularly care—was followed by a banquet of desserts: fruit pie, macaroons, pudding, toffee, fudge, egg custard tarts, mochi, tart pie…

Korra made a mental note to thank Wiggles before the day was over.

She wondered if the ‘holiday spirit’ had indeed disarmed the faculty as Asami had suggested, as absolutely nobody was following the House seating rules. Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang were all sitting at the Gryffindor table, had waved to them when they’d entered, as well as their entire friend group (of those that had remained)—Opal, Kai (of course), Jinora, and Ikki—while several Ravenclaws had taken up residence at the Hufflepuff table. Only Huan was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Desna and Eska, all three wearing blank expressions and elf hats.

Glancing at the High Table, Korra suspected so—for Bumi was blowing up wizard crackers and dancing on the table, Suyin was singing carols with some of the other professors, and even Tenzin was smiling (he was still wearing his robes, though). Lin looked rather red in the face as she ordered glass after glass of wine before finally offering Kya her hand, who giggled and turned scarlet before accepting it; to Korra’s surprise, Kya was wearing a red Christmas sweater that matched Lin’s.

Tarrlok was the only professor absent from the feast, Korra noted darkly. In his place, a gaggle of task force members had been stationed around the Great Hall.

“What are these?” Asami inquired, pointing at the mounds of wizard crackers.

Bolin’s face lit up. “Only the best things ever! Here, pull one with me!”

It went off with an earsplitting _crack_ , shrouding them in sapphire smoke; in the cracker’s place, a diamond-studded tiara materialized.

“Ooo, I’ve always wanted one of these! Mind if I have it?”

Asami, who was clearly amused by Bolin’s request, shook her head. Opal pinched the bridge of her nose as her boyfriend paraded around the table in his new tiara.

Soon, they were all pulling crackers, and had amassed an entire pile of goodies: a glider, a boomerang, dual swords (plastic, to Bolin’s dismay), a green and gold headband, a waterskin, a pair of war fans, a signed copy of General Iroh I’s best-selling novel, several broomstick accessories, and a brand-new Wizard’s Pai Sho set Bolin immediately claimed for himself.

“You ruined my board,” he justified with a glare directed at Mako.

Mako rolled his eyes. “First of all, that’s the Gryffindor Common Room set, and second of all, you’re not even a Gryffindor.”

Bolin responded by blowing a raspberry in his brother’s face.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Asami began timidly, nudging Korra. The latter had been watching Wing, Wei, and Kai jinx candles to fight each other.

“Of course,” Korra replied, managing to tear her eyes away. “What’s on your mind?”

Asami was blushing slightly. “It’s not super important, it’s actually a little embarrassing on my part…”

Korra raised an eyebrow when Asami didn’t continue.

Clearing her throat, Asami inquired sheepishly, “How do you tell the twins apart?”

Korra burst out laughing.

“You can’t tell the twins apart?”

“I-I mean I can _now_ ,” Asami retorted defensively, as red as Kya’s sweater. “But for the longest time it was because they have different haircuts, and that isn’t exactly the best foundation for a relationship…”

Korra was elated that Asami had found the courage—and desire—to embrace their friends more intimately; it was a small step, but it was enough to make Korra beam as bright as day.

She chuckled, glancing back at the twins. The boys were now being pursued by Lin, who was too inebriated to actually catch up to them.

Wei looked something like an older version of Kai, sporting a very similar haircut, the only difference being he styled it as a messy combover with, as Bolin had accused Mako of earlier, ‘three kilos of hair product.’ His right ear was pierced in several places, from the cartilage down to the earlobe, and the beginnings of a dragon tattoo was peeking out of his sleeve (illegal, of course, but Suyin hadn’t stopped him). Meanwhile, Wing had a very clean haircut, evenly faded, that was combed out of his eyes; he had no such body modifications, and often did his best to adhere to dress code. The most prominent difference was, of course, the pair of slits on Wei’s right eyebrow—a weak attempt at drawing attention away from the fact that it hadn’t completely grown back yet, having been singed off with elemental magic.

“I guess I never really thought about it since we grew up together,” Korra admitted. “But I’d say they’re polar opposites who just get along really well—the only thing they have in common is their, err, ‘duty to mischief,’ as they put it.”

Asami arced an eyebrow. “How so?”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully. “I’d say Wing is…purer, if that’s the right word, than Wei, and he’s good at reading people. He’d never admit it, but he’s soft for his brother—really protective in general—gooder—”

“‘Gooder’ isn’t a word,” Mako interjected, fiddling with the plastic swords.

“—shut up, anyway, he’s the ‘good boy’ out of those two—he usually just goes along with Wei’s dreadful ideas.” She paused, then added, “And comes up with better ones. Wei, on the other hand, is the mastermind behind all of their nonsense. He’s always been a bit of a leader, rambunctious, manlier—”

“ _Manlier_?” Asami interrupted, looking surprised.

Korra nodded, bemused. “Err, yeah? Why?”

Asami immediately looked ashamed. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to stereotype—not that he can’t be manly—”

Korra was further perplexed by Asami’s response, but she didn’t get to ask.

A resounding _bang_ rang through the castle, sending everyone in the Great Hall onto the floor.

_BOOM._

_BOOM._

_BOOM._

_THUD._

This was followed by several more thunderous crashes, each with the magnitude of a canon blast—then, to everyone’s horror, a bloodcurdling roar.

At once, chaos broke out—students began rushing towards the entrance—screaming, shouting, shoving—the professors were yelling orders—the task force members were scrambling around haphazardly—

“What’s going on?” Wing shouted. He’d managed to stumble back to the Gryffindor table, where he collapsed to the floor and wrapped his arms around Opal.

“No idea, sounds like—” Wei began to reply but he was cut off by a loud _CRACK._

Tenzin had risen to his feet, was holding his wand above his head.

The hall fell silent.

Clearing his throat, Tenzin began, “I have just been informed that a troll has broken into the castle—” screaming started up again “—SILENCE!”

Everyone froze, gazing up at Tenzin with wide eyes. Exasperated, he continued, “All students are to follow the task force’s instructions for a safe and orderly evacuation. The faculty will investigate this matter—under absolutely _no_ circumstances are students to leave their Common Rooms or stray from orders. Do I make myself clear?”

He had.

Only, Korra, Asami, Mako, and Bolin had slipped out unnoticed ages ago.

 

* * *

 

“It sounded like it was coming from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” Mako called over his shoulder. He was running ahead of the others, wand already drawn.

Korra half-expected Bolin to protest, except—

“Follow me—I know a shortcut,” Bolin called back, to Korra’s shock.

Mako allowed Bolin to take the lead, and they all sped up.

Then, something occurred to Korra, and she stopped abruptly.

The brothers hadn’t noticed, disappearing around the corner. Asami skidded to a halt and turned back.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, trotting back to Korra’s side.

Korra was frowning. “Something’s not right...”

“What do you mean?”

Korra shook her head. “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that a troll somehow managed to get past all of Hogwarts’ enchantments and decided for whatever reason, on Christmas Day, he was going to storm down from the mountains and invade a school?”

Asami’s face darkened.

“You’re right, it’s a little too convenient,” she agreed grimly.

They were silent for a few moments, deliberating.

Then, it hit them both at the same time, and they looked up at each other in alarm.

“The stone!”

They turned on their heel and sprinted to the stairwell.

“Tarrlok must’ve let in the troll to distract everyone during the feast—”

“Blast it! That’s why he started this whole task force rubbish—to get me, and when that didn’t work, to act as a cover—it was all a ruse—”

“We have to get to the third floor _now_!”

Korra didn’t need to be told twice.

They charged up the stairs with more haste and desperation Korra had ever exercised or experienced—panting, frightened, electrified—

By the time they arrived at the third floor, where there had only been blank space before, a trapdoor had materialized on the floor, just behind—

“Ah, yes—I was hoping you and your vigilante friends would show up. I’ll need you to unseal the stone for me,” Tarrlok snickered.

He turned away from the trapdoor—and then froze. He looked momentarily stunned to see Asami, brow creasing in distress; his expression suggested something had gone wrong.

Then, he shook his head, composing himself, and smirked.

“I see you’re still friends with Sato,” Tarrlok remarked, voice laced with ridicule. “Not afraid, anymore? Even though her father has been outed as an Equalist conspirator?”

Asami flinched, and then scowled, drawing her wand.

Korra gritted her teeth. “Don’t pull your bullshit with me—I know what you did to her.”

This was news to Tarrlok.

His eyes widened, darting between Korra and Asami; there it was again, that expression of uncertainty, a crack in his seamless façade. Then, it was gone, and he chuckled to himself.

“You’ve bested me at my own game, Sato,” Tarrlok sneered, addressing Asami now. “Managed to win over the Chosen One when I couldn’t.” He turned back to Korra. “Do your other friends know? That they’ve been traipsing around with an Equalist? That you’ve _let_ them?”

"Don’t waste our time,” Asami snapped, pointing her wand directly at Tarrlok’s throat. Korra mirrored her.

Tarrlok, at last, recognizing that the fidelity between Korra and Asami was stronger than he’d believed, curled his lip in disdain. He sighed, and then simpered sweetly at them.

“All right, then. It was fun catching up with you ladies, but I won’t waste your time—or mine—any longer.”

With that, Tarrlok flicked his wand, stepped back, and disappeared into the opening under the trapdoor.

Asami didn’t have a chance to stop Korra, who dove after him immediately.

The fall was long—much longer than Korra had anticipated; it was thanks to her Quidditch training that she managed to land safely, dive-rolling onto her feet. Asami dropped down beside her nimbly, catching herself mid-air and landing lightly on her toes.

Korra didn’t have time to be impressed.

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Korra threw herself sideways, grabbing Asami around the waist. Their teamwork—even considering that they’d never fought together before—was clunky, and while they managed to dodge the spell, landed sloppily in a jumbled mess of limbs.

Tarrlok’s laughter echoed through the chamber.

Now that the flash of red had faded, Korra could see nothing. It was frigid, pitch-black, with absolutely no illumination in the—chamber? (Korra guessed it was a chamber, based on the acoustics.)

“Are you okay?” she whispered to Asami.

“I’m fine—focus,” Asami hissed back. She pushed Korra lightly and then rolled out from underneath her.

She wasn’t on her feet for long.

“ _Stupefy!”_

Asami hurtled back towards Korra, who was just beginning to get to her feet—

They were sent sprawling to the floor again.

“This isn’t going to work—” Korra huffed, drawing her wand, “ _Lumos!_ ”

At once, Korra wished she hadn’t. An explosion of light flooded the room, and after Korra’s eyes had adjusted, she found herself face to face with the largest serpent she’d ever seen in her life.

A massive creature, the Basilisk towered some forty or fifty feet above them, its dark green scales shimmering against the light of Korra’s wand. It seemed either asleep or paralyzed, for it had yet to spring on them—or show any sign of life. However, before Korra could catch sight of its face, Asami stuck her hand out and covered Korra’s eyes.

“Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact,” Asami ordered under her breath. “Looking into a Basilisk’s eyes will kill you.”

Korra’s heart stopped.

Stomach churning, she nodded wordlessly.

“I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to handle a Basilisk…the door only opens once it yields to the intruder,” Tarrlok mused from somewhere.

Korra and Asami spun around to find him at the corner of the room. The chamber itself was empty, save for a ring of pillars, the motionless Basilisk, and what appeared to be a magically sealed door on the other side of it; as a consequence, any noise that passed through it echoed endlessly. There was an added emphasis on every sound, a stark clarity to every detail, highlighted against the harsh lightning of her wand, and Korra found herself unnerved by this heightened perception.

Tarrlok was leaning against the wall, fiddling with his wand. He glanced up at the girls, as though just remembering they were there, then smiled.

It was an empty one—callous, with unspecified hatred—and sent a chill down Korra’s spine.

“Basilisk venom is extremely powerful, you know?” Tarrlok murmured, cruel amusement playing on his lips. His gaze was fixated on Korra. “It can kill a person within a little more than a minute, at best.”

A pause.

Tarrlok sighed, and twirled his wand.

“I used to resent him for this, but…I’m glad I had my father to teach me.”

The comment was innocent enough, but there was no mistaking the malicious glint in his eye—the gibe was obviously directed at Asami.

Korra couldn’t contain herself.

 _“Reducto!”_ she bellowed, brandishing her wand.

Tarrlok smirked and deflected the spell easily.

“ _Don’t_ let him get under your skin,” Asami warned, grabbing a hold of Korra’s sleeve.

“I used to think only a Parseltongue could control a Basilisk, as it’s immune to ordinary magic,” Tarrlok continued silkily. “But—as it turns out—the family brand of the Imperius Curse is more powerful than I believed. How curious.”

The Basilisk lay behind them, waiting, unmoving.

_No!_

“You won’t get away with this!” Korra snarled.

Tarrlok only giggled in response, obviously pleased by the reaction he’d elicited.

Then, his eyes went cold.

“Oh, dear—I already have.”

With that, he flicked his wand.

As if summoned, the Basilisk suddenly roared to life. The ground beneath them quivered as it stretched—then, without warning—

“Look out!” Asami cried, shoving Korra out of harm and then hurling herself the other way.

The Basilisk dove straight for where they’d been standing, crashing into it face first. It let out a piercing shriek that reverberated through the chamber, and then whirled around, tail whipping irately.  

“This is even more entertaining than I anticipated,” Tarrlok snickered, folding his arms together. With another disinterested flick of his wand, he sent the Basilisk barreling straight for Korra—

She held out her wand without thinking, forgot to come up with an incantation—

The Basilisk roared in pain, shrinking back in an attempt to protect itself.

Korra stared incredulously at her own wand. She’d sent out not a burst of water, but a torrent of flames.

_If only I knew how to do it again._

Then, she looked past the Basilisk’s bowed form, and met Tarrlok’s gaze.

His jaw clenched.

“Korra!” Asami called from the other side of the chamber. “Elemental magic is the only kind of magic that works on a Basilisk!”

“Err—all right! I’ll, err, I’ll keep at it!” Korra called back, internally panicking.

She turned back to the Basilisk and tried her very best to conjure ice—ended up summoning a gust of wind. It hardly did the job, only managing to mildly irritate it—but the distraction was long enough for Korra to scramble across the chamber to where Asami was standing.

“Can you handle the Basilisk while I focus on Tarrlok?” Asami inquired without taking her eyes off said foe, who was beginning to wave his wand again.

_I cannot handle anything._

“Err, y-yeah, sure,” Korra agreed anyway.

Asami caught the note of apprehension in her voice—turned to look at Korra—

“Watch out!” Korra yelled, shoving past Asami— “ _Alarte Ascendare!”_

Tarrlok, who’d been so focused on his next spell, was entirely unprepared for the charm. It hit him square in the chest and he flew backwards.

The Basilisk, who’d been charging towards Korra and Asami, paused. It looked disoriented for a moment, eyes glazed over, gaze distant; it wasn’t unlike when Asami had been fighting for control all those months ago.

Korra took notice. She quickly turned to Asami, who was still glancing between the Basilisk and Tarrlok, trying to ascertain what’d just happened.

“Asami, I have a better idea,” Korra whispered. “If I take down the Basilisk, that’ll inadvertently help Tarrlok, anyway. If we focus on taking down Tarrlok, the Basilisk won’t be under his control anymore—and then it’ll go for _him_.”

Asami frowned, deliberating. After a moment, she gave Korra a curt nod.

“All right,” she agreed. “But you still need to keep it at bay—at least distract it. There’s no way we’ll be able to take him with it trying to kill us in the meantime.”

They both turned on Tarrlok, who was just getting to his feet, hair disheveled, sticking up in many places. Whether it was shame or ire, his face twisted in outrage; he raised his wand again—

 _“Expelliarmus!”_ Korra cried.

Tarrlok’s wand sailed out of his grasp, landed somewhere in the dark. He watched it, mouth ajar—

Without speaking, Asami brandished her wand.

Tarrlok let out a shriek and crumpled to the ground in agony. Startled, Korra stared dumbly.

 _“Korra!”_ Asami urged.

“Wha—oh!”

Korra swiftly pointed her wand at the Basilisk, which was but a few yards away, no longer under control but even more vicious—

It howled in anguish as a boulder collided with its snout.

_Not what I was going for, but it’ll have to do._

In the meantime, Tarrlok had snatched up his wand again—

“ _Expulso!”_

Korra was slow to react, turning back at a snail’s pace—

Asami leapt in front of her and waved her wand. An explosion of blue just before them, suspended mid-air.

When the smoke cleared, Tarrlok was staring at them, eyes darting between Korra and Asami. His gaze settled on Korra, and his eyes narrowed. Something flashed across his face—

Tarrlok waved his wand again.

Rumbling behind them—Korra spun around, sent a stream of water at the Basilisk—useless, had to dive out of the way—

“Korra, look out!”

Asami tackled Korra behind a pillar; a flash of yellow narrowly missed them. Panting, Asami quickly rolled off Korra, gave her a pointed look, and then sent a curse back at Tarrlok, who was prepared this time and leapt out of the way.  

It wasn’t just their synergy that needed work—Korra was quick to notice that she was slowing Asami down. Compared to Asami, she was a weak fighter, had little practical combative training; three actual battles, of which she’d only won one—and due to her recently discovered abilities, not any merit of her own—were hardly sufficient preparation for a fight against a seasoned dark wizard and a Basilisk. Korra was too hesitant—easily distracted, baffled by the quick decisions required of her—and unable to read her opponent’s mind, which in itself, was the biggest disadvantage. Moreover, she hadn’t practiced enough with elemental magic for it to actually serve as an asset, and found herself being rescued by Asami over and over again—often at the heiress’s own expense.

Tarrlok had realized this quickly and focused all of his attacks exclusively on Korra. Within a few minutes, Asami was breathing heavily, bruised, glasses shattered beyond repair, while Korra was looking all about in a daze, unable to focus on one target at a time.

“What good is being a prodigy when your partner is a liability,” Tarrlok jeered, giggling in delight.

“Shut up,” Asami spat, raising her wand again.

To make matters worse, unlike Asami, Korra had to fight her opponent handicapped—she had to keep shielding her eyes when the Basilisk turned on her, which only gave Tarrlok another opening—

Korra flattened herself against the floor, only just managing to dodge the Basilisk, which was once again under Tarrlok’s control. Tarrlok didn’t relent.

_“Incendio!”_

_“Aguamenti!”_ Korra fired back.

_“Reducto!”_

_"Stupefy!”_

_"Expulso!”_

_“Protego!”_ Korra shouted firmly.

A blinding light filled the chamber—followed by a delayed explosion—

The smoke cleared. Tarrlok and Korra glared at each other, panting.

Then, to Korra’s disbelief, Tarrlok raised his wand and—

“Not _you_ , too!” Korra groaned, leaping in front of Asami, who was still catching her breath.

Tarrlok had sent a powerful vortex towards them—there was no Water-Making Spell that could create something so terrible and so controlled—

There was no mistaking it: It was elemental magic.

Only, Korra was nowhere near as skilled as Tarrlok, and while she’d managed to create a small opening in the maelstrom, it was a very narrow one. She and Asami sailed backwards, floored by the sheer might of its currents.

Another roar—the Basilisk was coming back—

Korra raised her arm limply—

_Please, anything—_

Fortunately, it was fire this time, and the Basilisk screeched as the flames made contact with its side.

“Korra, get up!” Asami ordered, holding out a hand.

The heiress was already back on her feet—had launched a jinx at Tarrlok—

“Right, sorry,” Korra gasped, still out of breath, legs still shaking.

Asami yanked her to her feet before turning back to face Tarrlok.

Korra leaned on a nearby pillar for support, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t see straight, had barely even done anything…

 _Fuck, I’m useless,_ Korra thought to herself bitterly. _At this rate, I’ll just get Asami killed—_

“KORRA, NO!”

Korra gasped.

Pain like she’d never known it shot through her entire body. She glanced down, dazed; there, on the back of her calf, two enormous punctures, bleeding profusely…

Korra collapsed to the floor in anguish.

From the base of her spine to the top of her head, something draining, numbing washed over her…she could scarcely breathe, she was beginning to lose all feeling in her body…the very fibers of her muscle felt like they were disintegrating—

Vaguely, somewhere in the distance, she heard Asami cry, _“Sectumsempra!”_

 _Funny,_ thought Korra. _Asami never uses verbal magic…_

She was tired, so tired…everything was blurry, no matter how hard she tried to focus…fatigue and exhaustion had seeped into her very bones, where they settled irrevocably, slowly seeping the very life from her…

Then—out of nowhere—

Korra screamed.

Something powerful, something great, tremendous, and terrible was coursing through her; her eyes shot open, but she could see nothing—her back arched, succumbing to the uncontainable, unstoppable force raging within her–her entire body had gone rigid, collapsing on itself—

It felt as though she was being torn apart from the inside-out—as though a great battle was waging within her—

There was a clear dichotomy: something grueling, debilitating trickling through her veins, yet beneath that, something like the essence of life itself surged forth, from her core—almost as if from her soul—it didn’t feel entirely like her own—

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” someone was whispering over and over again…Asami?

Korra’s vision returned to her periodically, though it was exceptionally blurry. The chamber…the corridor between the third and fourth floors…they were somewhere else now…it was so dark…so cold…the dungeons…? No, somewhere more specific…

The Potions classroom?

“I’m so sorry—I’m so, so sorry…Korra, stay with me…”

Asami was crying…

“Korra, please…I can’t do this without you—I _need_ you—”

Korra could no longer see—even her hearing was starting to fade…

Asami was fumbling with something…sobbing…a _pop…_

Korra felt herself being turned on her side, something very damp being poured onto on her calf…

Suddenly, everything was hot—then cold—

Then nothing.

 

* * *

               

Korra felt as though her head was going to burst.

She couldn’t stay conscious for too long—didn’t recognize her surroundings…

Yet somehow, it all felt familiar.

She was in a bed—that, she was certain of. Where was she? Hogwarts felt so far away…

Every once in a while, she was conscious long enough to identify the person by her bedside…sometimes…Pema? Was that her? But most often…

Korra couldn’t tell if she was hallucinating. Everything felt so distant, intangible…

She couldn’t tell if she was imagining it, but she swore she saw Asami…then Mako…Asami…then Mako…

Asami…Mako…Asami…Mako…

Asami.

Mako.

Asami.

Mako.

Asami—

“You’re awake,” Mako breathed.

“Where’s Asami?” Korra demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the nightmare happened on Christmas in this case, but I hope you can appreciate the allusion anyway. Also the Kyalin scene was lowkey inspired by Hagrid and McGonagall's interactions in The Philosopher’s Stone—hope you HP nerds enjoyed!
> 
> Also, I have a fat crush on Asami even though I’m writing her and I melt every time she does something cool. Sue me.


	20. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year Pt. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was supposed to be one chapter, but it turned out horribly, dreadfully wrong—it was over 23,000 words on its own—so I just had to split it up. Hope you enjoy, anyway! I’m sorry if it’s a bit slow, it’s the last “fluffy” chapter of this installment.
> 
> And yes, I’ve been a bit busy trying to procure an internship with my dream company 😫 I also just got an Avatar half-sleeve tattoo, so caring for that has been time consuming/restricting. But I am here to stay, so thank you all for continuing to support this story :) 
> 
> I’ll try to have the companion chapter up soon but no promises.

* * *

Mako looked as if he’d been slapped across the face.

He blinked several times, and then stared at Korra, as though uncertain she knew what she was asking for. When she only gazed back at him expectantly, he sighed and rose to his feet.

“She’s here. I’ll, err, I’ll go get her.”

He paused. Glanced at Korra again.

Korra raised an eyebrow.

Mako didn’t look back after that.

Glancing around, vision clear (though still bleary around the edges) for the first time in god knew how long, Korra recognized her surroundings as the treatment room at Tenzin’s house.

 _We’re in Wales?_ Korra realized with a jolt. _When did we get here?_

The room was used primarily during the summer, when Pema was on break from her duties at school; she operated a sort of at-home healing center, which was wildly popular amongst the wizarding community (mostly due to her association with Aang the Chosen, but she was also a gifted healer). Korra realized, with another jolt, that she had never been in here as a patient before.

Outside of the treatment bed and a chair for visitors, the center was mostly empty, with wide-panel windows that flooded the room with natural lighting. It had a very calming aura about it, spacious and aesthetically pleasing, with mellow off-white walls paired with a gorgeous hardwood floor. There was a cabinet shoved into one corner, enchanted, so that the inside was magnified in size; it was stocked with potions and healing supplies from the rarest in the world to something as mundane as muggle antibacterial ointment.

It wasn’t a very long wait.

Asami burst into the room moments later, hair disheveled, sleep still on her face.

Glancing at the windows, Korra realized it was…actually, it was sometime midday, to her bewilderment. Then, she noticed the dark circles under Asami’s eyes.

They sat there like bruises against her porcelain skin, and judging from the redness of her eyes, she’d stayed up all night—most likely by Korra’s side.

Asami said nothing, staring at Korra with trembling eyes. She was looking at her as though she couldn’t believe Korra were real, as though she were seeing Korra for the first time.

(Korra was strangely reminded of the Mirror of Erised.)

“Asami!” she cried, jerking up from the bed. She tried to get up but the attempt died quickly when a sharp pain shot through her right leg. “Ugh,” Korra groaned, sliding back down against her pillow.

“Be careful, your leg is still healing,” Asami chided, though her voice held no real severity. She swiftly made her way across the room.

Korra had felt a very discernable, almost tangible shift in atmosphere when Asami entered the room; it was something within her, and something beyond her. Korra had always found herself highly attracted to Asami’s aura, which stood out to her more than anyone else’s. It was something intense and powerful, cool, indomitable—controlled, with perfect precision. It stood in stark contrast to Korra’s own aura—vast, unruly, overpowering—which she’d never been able to completely tame. Asami’s aura reminded Korra slightly of Mako’s, but there was something much more personable about it; something softer, something more approachable, something that spoke to Korra and awakened something dormant within her.

Now that Asami was nearby, the effect seemed amplified, washing over Korra inexorably. For a moment, everything was clear—the uncertainty and fear ebbed away, replaced by something ethereal and unfamiliar—yet somehow, strangely familiar—and Korra was at peace.

She felt…whole.

“Are you all right?” Korra demanded the moment Asami settled into Mako’s recently vacated seat.

Asami stared.

She stared for the better part of a minute before her eyes began watering. Chuckling to herself, she shook her head.

“After everything, you should be worried about _you_ ,” Asami pointed out, sniffling.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Korra retorted with a frown.

Asami smiled tearfully.

“I’m fine _now_ ,” she murmured, gazing at Korra meaningfully.

Satisfied, Korra nodded—then paused to think about the implications of what Asami had said. Her face was suddenly very warm.

“How are _you_ feeling?” Asami asked softly, gently brushing a strand of hair out of Korra’s face.

Korra groaned again. “Like someone stabbed my leg with a sword.”

Asami winced.

“That’s about sums it up.”

Korra sat up straight.

“Wait, what happened?” she demanded, eyes widened in alarm.

While Korra had been trying to process the events of Christmas Day on her own, this was the first time she had any clarity of thought, the first time she would hear it from someone who’d been coherent during the affair—

Only, the prospect was far less pleasant than Korra expected.

Her heart was hammering against her chest; she almost didn’t want to know.

Asami pursed her lips, as though she wanted to put this conversation off for another time. However, with one look at Korra’s face, she sighed, and lowered her hand.

Taking Korra’s right hand between both of hers, Asami began quietly, “The Basilisk bit you. That much, I’m sure you remember.”

Korra nodded fervently. “How did I—?”

Asami shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I—” her eyes flitted away for a moment, cheeks burning “—I mean, we were going to lose you. Then, something really…odd happened.”

Korra raised an eyebrow.

Asami looked hesitant again, as though she wasn’t sure whether to share this with Korra or not.

A beat.

Finally—

“Your eyes were glowing.”

Korra stared.

She remembered the feeling very vaguely. Somewhere, below the Basilisk’s venom, there had been something powerful and tremendous surging forth from her core; it didn’t feel like her own aura, and yet, it didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar, either. Perhaps something from another lifetime.

“I…I think it’s happened before, actually,” Asami continued, brows furrowed, “when we fought. Your eyes were glowing and you became way more powerful out of nowhere.” A beat. “Do you think it’s…?”

“Aang?” Korra finished solemnly.

Asami nodded.

Korra sighed.

“Maybe. If those other times were him, then probably? I don’t know…”

Korra didn’t know how to feel. Had Aang really protected her—kept her alive—from beyond the realm of the living? Was that even possible? And if so, what implications did that have for her?

“And then?” Korra pressed, not wanting to think about it.

“I…I used a curse on Tarrlok,” Asami said slowly, without meeting Korra’s eyes. She looked ashamed.

“That bastard deserves it,” Korra countered at once. “Don’t feel bad. Not after everything he’s done.”

Asami seemed to just remember this fact. She still looked uneasy.

Then, in a very, very low voice, she admitted, “It was the Cruciatus Curse.”

Despite herself, Korra’s jaw dropped.

Perhaps it was the shock of it all, for her control slipped, just for a moment—

She felt it there, then, looking into Asami’s eyes.

An overwhelming, earth-shattering anger—ire like thunder, an unforgiving wrath that promised total and complete destruction; before her eyes— _Asami’s_ eyes—Korra fell to the ground, a victim of Tarrlok’s cunning. It was all-consuming, and Korra could hardly focus, Asami’s rage was so immense.

 _She really cares about me, doesn’t she?_ Korra couldn’t help but think.

There was something else, too, in that memory—an unshakable, paralyzing sense of fear and—and blood—there was blood, so much blood—

Korra looked away quickly, out of respect for the promise she’d made to Asami—but also because she had a horrible feeling that it was _her_ blood.

“That’s…that’s understandable,” Korra said at last, still dazed. “I’d be angry too, if he hurt you. Besides, it’s not as though he’s innocent himself. He used _two_ Unforgivable Curses—and I’m sure if he had his way, it’d be three.”

Asami bit her lip uncertainly. She was still gazing at the floor.

Korra squeezed her hand, so Asami would look at her.

Asami looked up—searched Korra’s eyes, and when she found only understanding, smiled weakly.

She gathered herself, and after a moment, continued, “It shocked the Basilisk, too—broke him out of Tarrlok’s control. I didn’t wait to see what would happen because I was so worried about you, rushed you to my father’s—err—the Potions classroom. There’s only one antidote for Basilisk venom, it’s Phoenix tears—but it’s incredibly rare, I didn’t know if Hogwarts would have it but—”

“They did?” Korra guessed.

Asami nodded; her expression suggested that the relief from the discovery still lingered. “I managed to stop the poison from getting any further, but there’s still a lot of internal damage…so take it easy,” she concluded, with a pointed look at Korra.

Korra nodded, smiling sheepishly. Then, she frowned.

There was still one piece missing from the puzzle.

“And Tarrlok?”

Asami’s face darkened.

“No clue. When the professors got to the third floor, he was gone.” Noticing the alarm on Korra’s face, Asami added, “Don’t worry—the stone is safe.”

Relieved, Korra nodded again.

Then, she felt sick.

The blood drained from her face as she came to grips with the reality of what had transpired—of the alternate outcome—and it was only because she was laying down that she didn’t collapse completely.

“I almost died…” Korra mumbled, feeling hollow.

She slid down in her bed until her head hit the pillow, and lay there, feeling very disconnected from her body.

 _What would Mum and Dad think…? What_ do _they think?_

Korra was suddenly very aware and very afraid of the possibility that her parents were going to force her to withdraw from Hogwarts. Then, just for a moment, the idea wasn’t wholly unappealing.

Asami squeezed her hand, and Korra returned to the present.

“But you didn’t.” Asami smiled timidly, wistfully. There was a glimmer in her eyes, not entirely a result of sunlight—the hint of tears. “And I’m here.”

Korra’s face softened.

It wasn’t just Asami’s reassurance—it was that sensation again, looking into Asami’s eyes, feeling her aura—feeling complete. The emptiness had all but dissipated, just for a moment. (It still lingered, there, under the surface, like a predator waiting for a chance to strike; but Asami’s touch revitalized her, and Korra could put it aside, at least for now.)

Korra squeezed Asami’s hand, and whispered, “You saved me.”

Asami blinked rapidly, and then turned as red as Korra’s House tie.

“I-I mean,” she stammered, “anyone would’ve tried to—”

“You’re bloody amazing, Asami. _Thank you._ I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Korra breathed, effectively silencing the heiress.

Asami lowered her gaze. She was quiet for several moments.

Finally, she raised her eyes—looked up at Korra from underneath her eyelashes, as she had many times before.

“Me too,” Asami murmured.

Korra’s heart skipped a beat, as it had many times before.

She coughed loudly, trying to ignore how uneven her breathing had gotten as a result of the comment.

It didn’t work.

“I’m sorry about your glasses,” Korra blurted instead.

Asami blinked. She looked both startled and bemused.

“Err, it’s all right,” she said after a moment. “They’re fine.”

“What? They are?” Korra asked dumbly.

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“We’re wizards, Korra.”

Korra turned bright pink.

“R-right. Yeah. I knew that.”

Asami smirked, eyes glinting with amusement, and Korra had to look away.

It didn’t help that Asami’s lips were tinted with something on the precipice of coquettish. 

“H-how long have I been out, by the way?” Korra changed the subject. There was a fluttering sensation in her stomach—not entirely unpleasant, but she didn’t want to entertain it.

Asami’s smile vanished.

A beat.

More hesitation.

She sighed, and then confessed, in an inaudible voice, “Almost a week.”

Korra’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

Noticing Korra’s distress, Asami added, “It’s only New Year’s Eve. We still have a week of break left, don’t worry.”

Korra’s expression remained unchanged.

“Korra?”

Asami waved a hand in front of Korra’s face.

No reaction.

“You all right?”

No response.

Now panicking, Asami started wringing her hands together.

“I-I’m really sorry, Korra, I did my best—"

But Korra’s only response was—

“I SLEPT THROUGH _CHRISTMAS_?”

Asami stared.

She stared and stared and stared—for what felt like an eternity.

Then, she laughed—laughed so hard tears rolled down her cheeks—and pulled Korra into an embrace that effectively ended that conversation and all coherent thought with it.

 

* * *

 

After a healing session with Pema, Korra was able to walk again (though she still had to limp). Pema had assured her that she could remain in the treatment room for as long as she liked but Korra insisted on joining the others as soon as possible. Thus, it was later that very afternoon she found herself following Ikki to the room she’d be sharing with Asami for the remainder of break.

Korra had been informed that, following the attack, _all_ of Hogwarts’ inhabitants had been evacuated until spring term. The faculty returned to the castle periodically, of course, for security and administrative purposes (hence, Tenzin’s absence today). However, even the professors had cleared out for the time being while aurors performed a rigorous, top-down investigation (during which, Raiko had been mysteriously unreachable). As a consequence, Korra’s usual room was currently occupied by Bumi, Mako, and Bolin.

Korra had also been informed that a belated, makeshift Christmas party would be taking place today—now that she was conscious—and that the Beifongs were already here and Kya would be joining them shortly.

Asami had opted to tag along with Ikki and Korra—mostly to hover over Korra protectively. Although Korra had initially protested, she found that her leg hurt even worse than it had when it’d been struck by the Fire Princess’s Curse, and that each step was incredibly unstable and excruciating; in the end, Asami’s help was more than welcome.

 _What the fuck happened to my leg?_ Korra wondered to herself as they moved, very, very slowly, through the hallway.

“Be careful,” Asami murmured, brushing Korra’s forearm gently.

Ikki, who had been prattling on by herself—to herself—stopped abruptly.

She turned back to look at the older girls (several steps behind). Her eyes darted between them curiously, then suspiciously, and then lit up with the beginnings of something that could only mean a headache for Korra.

With all the enthusiasm of an overexcited lemur, Ikki chirped, “Asami, did you know Korra fancies Mako?”

Korra felt as though a bomb had gone off.

_This is the last time I’m ever talking to the children about anything personal._

Furious, she opened her mouth to dispute this—however, before she could even begin to formulate a reply—

“Yeah, I know,” Asami mumbled.

Korra couldn’t tell if she was imagining it, but Asami looked…sad?

“What? No, I don’t!” Korra snapped irritably.

Ikki’s jaw dropped and she all but shot to Korra’s side. “What? Really? Since when?”

“Who cares? I just _don’t_ —all right? Ugh…”

Korra didn’t know why she was so aggravated by this—why she felt such a burning, irrefutable need to clarify her current romantic prospects out loud.

She shook her head, then glanced at Asami—and was stunned by what she found.

Asami was staring at her in shock, lips parted.

She was looking at Korra as though she were seeing a new person.

“Wow! Finally! So, does that mean you’re not jealous of Asami anymore?” Ikki fired off.

_Oh my god I have never wanted to commit child homicide more than I do right now._

“No—of course not—I mean, not jealous, not—” Korra stole a glance at Asami, who was trying to stifle her laughter. “I’m not jealous of you…” she finished weakly.

“Are you sure?” Asami grinned, to Korra’s chagrin.

Those sentiments had subsided ages ago; it seemed like another lifetime now. Korra could scarcely remember what it felt like to be jealous of Asami—Asami, who knew this very well, and clearly delighted in tormenting her (Asami, who occupied most of Korra’s thoughts at all times of the day).

“Yes, I’m sure!”

Asami only laughed harder. (She seemed giddier than usual.)

Apparently, Ikki wasn’t done yet.

“So, you don’t fancy anyone right now?” she demanded, hopping around Korra like a crazed rabbit.

Korra was sure she wasn’t imagining it this time: the atmosphere had abruptly shifted. There was a distinct impression of piqued interest—as though they were on a muggle computer screen and someone had zoomed in on Korra.

“Err…”

It was suddenly very hard to talk—very hard to breathe.

When Korra looked at Asami again, she found that the heiress was watching her intently.

“I…I haven’t really had time to think about that,” Korra deflected at last, averting her gaze.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

She hadn’t.

(And when she had, she’d opted not to.)

Rubbing her shoulder, Korra continued, “I…I don’t know. There’s just too much going on right now.”

(Perhaps part of her knew, but it was easier to pretend she didn’t.)

Ikki seemed unsatisfied by this answer, but didn’t push further.

Actually, she did, but fortunately Jinora’s room was in the same corridor, and the older girl popped out at once to retrieve her younger sister.

“Your room is at the end of this hall,” Jinora directed Korra and Asami, using one hand to cover Ikki’s mouth (who was currently trashing against her older sister’s grip) and the other to gesture to their destination.

“Thanks, Jinora,” the girls chorused, both thoroughly amused.

The rest of the walk (effectively ten feet) was uneventful.

“I’ve never been in here before,” Korra commented conversationally as they entered the guest room.

Admittedly, the summers (and occasional winters) at Tenzin’s were usually spent in the backyard, sitting room, or, eventually, inevitably, Diagon Alley or Suyin’s, when Tenzin had enough of the children’s antics. Tenzin lived in Wales, while Suyin resided in London—but having a fireplace in the wizarding world was as good as being next-door neighbors.

The guest room was relatively small, much smaller than Korra’s room, and usually occupied by witches and wizards passing through England on business (Korra didn’t know them, but apparently Tenzin did). There was a single bunkbed—Korra suspected recently added—a very tiny, pallid drawer, and a circular window opposite the door that offered a spectacular view of the ocean (Tenzin’s house was located on a private island). The only remotely vibrant articles in the room were Korra and Asami’s trunks, stacked on top of each other and neatly packed away into the corner. Tenzin _had_ always prided himself on minimalism (“The Tibetan monks get by with only the bare necessities—why shouldn’t we?”).

“Me too,” Asami replied wryly, and they both laughed—though it eventually tapered off into awkward silence.

A pause. A lull in conversation.

A stillness leaden with the weight of an abrupt shift in status quo.

The tension was perceptible, even to a child.

Korra cleared her throat.

“Wait, so…err…where have you been staying all this time, then?” she asked without looking directly at Asami.

They were standing several feet apart.

Her confession was normal conversation material—especially between girls—wasn’t it? Then why did she feel so self-conscious?

Korra wasn’t the only one.

“Oh…err…either in the waiting room or…” Asami had gone scarlet, “…by your bed,” she finished in a barely audible voice.

Asami wouldn’t look at Korra at all—hadn’t, since the moment they’d been left alone.

“Oh.” A beat. “Thanks.” Another beat. “Wait— _what?_ ”

Korra’s discomfiture was all but forgotten.

 _That’s why she looks so tired—she hasn’t slept in almost a week? Because of_ me _?_

Asami recoiled at Korra’s outburst. She hastily amended, “I’m sorry—I was just worried—”

“No, why are you apologizing? I meant why didn’t you get any rest?” Korra cut her off, exasperated. 

Asami was wringing her hands. “I was worried…”

Korra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

There was no winning with Asami.

A pause.

“Are you…okay with this?” Asami inquired timidly. “S-sharing a room with m-me, I mean.”

The heiress was gazing at the floor now.

Korra raised her head. Blinked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Asami shrugged. “Dunno…you seem…upset…” she trailed off uneasily.

Korra sighed again.

_She’s the only person I know who could possibly blame herself for doing something kind—and then misinterpret someone’s concern as disappointment._

Mustering what little strength she had, Korra hobbled towards Asami, who immediately chided, “Be careful—”

“Listen, I’m upset because you didn’t take care of _yourself_ while you were busy taking care of me,” Korra interrupted again, jabbing a finger in Asami’s face accusingly. “That’s it. Don’t get any stupid ideas.”

Asami had been staring at Korra’s finger with wide eyes. At Korra’s explanation, she blinked, and then lowered her eyes before smiling at Korra sheepishly.

“Okay. I’m sor—”

“No.”

“Right. Okay. Not sorry.” Asami was gazing at the ceiling, evidently further mortified. Then, she glanced at Korra, and her eyes crinkled mischievously. “ _Thank you._ ”

Korra deadpanned. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Asami grinned.

Korra sighed.

She couldn’t stay upset.

Chuckling to herself, Korra poked Asami’s shoulder playfully and then tilted her head towards the door.

“Stop worrying about nothing and help me walk to the kitchen. I’m starving.”

 

* * *

 

The entire house was adorned with mistletoe. Korra suspected this was Bumi’s doing, since Pema never put up more than one and Tenzin vehemently resented the existence of said Christmas ornament.

What waited for them in the sitting room was—entirely unsurprising and almost exactly what Korra had been envisioning.

Utter chaos.

Mako and Bolin were wrestling again—had knocked over the Christmas tree in the process—hadn’t noticed. Wing was standing atop of the headrest of the sofa, alongside a very intoxicated Bumi—both were yodeling Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Ikki was being chased by Opal, both on broomsticks, whizzing in and out of the open windows and doors, leaving mud and snow prints wherever they went. Meelo was…flying? No, Wei had placed an enchantment on him so that whenever he farted, he’d levitate into the air for a few seconds; Korra could tell it was Wei, because he hadn’t stopped laughing. The seven-year-old clearly loved it as well, for he’d been floating incessantly since Korra and Asami had entered the room. Huan was on his…‘phone’? Korra thought it was a phone but couldn’t tell—it looked a lot flashier than the ones she’d seen Bolin pouring over in muggle magazines. Suyin was in a heated debate with her husband and Lin—no, actually, she was drunk—so was Lin—and they were the ones in a heated debate; poor Baatar Sr., the only muggle present, had slid down to the bottom of his seat. Outside, Naga was barking up a storm—alternating between the families inside and Pabu, who, unfortunately, wasn’t allowed inside the house as per Tenzin’s rules, and thus, was now trying to avoid being consumed.

Pema looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.

Jinora had been pent up in her room for the better part of the afternoon ‘getting ready’; what she was getting ready for was beyond Korra, who, like most of the others present, had seen Jinora’s morning face. The girl in question eventually emerged from her room wearing a light layer of make-up, to Korra’s shock and dismay.

 _She’s like thirteen—way too young to get started with that war paint,_ Korra thought reproachfully.

Then, Kya arrived with Kai in-tow, and suddenly everything made sense.

Lin, who’d been so focused on the argument with her sister, hadn’t notice Kya enter. The moment their eyes met, all of the ire evaporated from Lin’s face, and she stood up abruptly. (Korra was vaguely reminded of Wei and McNamara.)

 _I suppose Kya was the ‘accommodations’ Tenzin promised for Kai,_ Korra mused as she lifted her hand and gestured half-heartedly in an attempt to get everyone’s attention.

“Hello,” she greeted dully, already exhausted.

Korra hadn’t expected anyone to hear her over the earsplitting cacophony—but everything came to an abrupt standstill the moment she spoke.

Silence.

Everyone stared.

Blinked.

Then—

“KORRA!”

“YOU’RE AWAKE!”

“HOW’S YOUR LEG?”

“OH, THANK MERLIN!”

“YOU OWE ME TEN SICKLES, I TOLD YOU SHE WASN’T GOING TO DIE—OW!”

Wing was the only one who greeted her in an acceptable volume, sliding off the sofa gracefully with a “Hey, champ!”

Korra smiled bashfully, inching behind Asami, who seemed just as overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

“I’m going to get something to eat—” Korra tried to deflect, but Pema grabbed a hold of her arm firmly and dragged her into the kitchen.

“Now that Korra’s awake and everyone’s here, we’re going to have dinner!” Pema announced—effectively, commanded—over her shoulder.

Korra complied, though slightly disgruntled at being used as a tool for creating order.

Cheers went up around the room—then everyone filed into the kitchen, which wasn’t nearly big enough to fit all seventeen of them—

And that was how Korra found herself sitting at the table with Asami, Pema, Lin, Suyin, Baatar Sr., Opal, Jinora, and Ikki, while Mako, Bolin, Wing, Wei, Kai, and Huan were huddled on the floor (Meelo was still floating around the room). Actually, Pema was bustling all about the kitchen, trying to serve food to all sixteen patrons while also meeting every single one of their very specific food needs (“I don’t want my dumplings touching my curry, Mum!”).

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Suyin pressed from across the table, smiling warmly at Korra.

“I feel all right, just a little slow. My leg is killing me,” Korra answered honestly.

Suyin nodded, satisfied, and then waved Korra’s latter concern off dismissively. “Oh, of course, dear. Don’t worry too much—you’re already moving around quite well for someone who lost a leg!”

Korra stared.

Had she heard that correctly?

Perhaps she hadn’t—it was still too loud in the kitchen…

“Korra, what did the Basilisk look like? Was it scary?” Ikki demanded while Pema tried to force-feed her vegetables.

‘Scary’ was an understatement.

Korra was entirely unprepared for what happened next.

A chill passed over her—

It was more than a chill—more like someone had grabbed Korra’s head and forcibly shoved it under ice cold water, where she couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe—her lungs burned, first, with the need for oxygen—then, because water had flooded into them—

Yellow eyes—but she couldn’t look for too long—fangs larger than her rushed eagerly towards them—Tarrlok was winning, he was going to get the stone—Asami was going to get killed protecting her—

“Korra will not be taking questions of that nature at this time,” Asami interrupted before Korra could reply.

Ikki blinked, taken aback by Asami’s professional response.

While grateful, Korra was also bemused.

In fact, she was so startled that it took her several moments to react. Rubbing her chest, where her heart still hammered relentlessly, Korra turned to face Asami, who was gazing at her with immense concern.

“You were just joking, right?” she whispered.

When Korra only got a confused, slightly embarrassed look in return, she stared.

Someone else was also staring.

Both girls glanced at Meelo, who’d been floating by Asami for quite some time now.

Noticing he had her attention at last, he extended a hand and requested all in one breath, “You’re pretty—can I have some of your hair?”

“Oh, for the love of—Meelo, please—”

Jinora had materialized out of nowhere and dragged her brother away from Asami, who looked as if she’d been struck by lightning.

“We shall meet again soon, beautiful lady!” Meelo called as Jinora all but shoved him at Wei, who was roaring with laughter, and demanded he take responsibility for his actions.

Both girls blinked.

After a moment—

“Was he…was he hitting on me? Isn’t he like seven?” Asami asked Korra, who burst into laughter.

Asami gazed at her in bewilderment, seemingly unsure of what’d happened.

“Oh my god—how are you this bad with children?” Korra laughed.

“I-I’ve never had to interact with them!” Asami replied defensively, very red in the face. “I was just trying to help!”

“Hey,” someone piped up beside Korra. Bolin grinned at her when she finally managed to stop laughing long enough to look at him. “Good to see you up and about.”

“Hi,” Korra greeted, still chortling. “Thanks, Bo.”

Mako was there, too, hanging behind Bolin, still waiting for his plate to be filled; he looked exceptionally awkward, for some reason. Realizing what inquiry would inevitably follow next, Korra fired off with one of her own.

“So, what happened with the troll?” she asked instead, turning to lean over the back of her chair so that she was facing the brothers.

Asami, who apparently already knew this story, snorted.

Korra glanced at her inquisitively before returning her attention to the brothers, who looked slightly embarrassed.

A pause.

Mild discomfort.

“Err…we didn’t actually get to the troll,” Mako admitted at last.

Korra blinked. “What? What happened?”

The brothers exchanged a sheepish glance.

“Well, we noticed you weren’t behind us so we turned back—”

“Lin and Tenzin bumped into us, and then dragged us into helping with emergency procedures—”

“The professors handled the troll—”

“We got stuck sitting in the Common Room until they started evacuating everybody,” Bolin concluded, rubbing the back of his neck ashamedly.

Korra smirked. “Wow. Real heroes, you two.”

“Shut up,” Mako muttered.

Suyin, who’d only just caught sight of the brothers, brightened at once.

“There’s my star pupil!” she beamed at Mako. “Make sure you get enough to eat!”

“Hi Professor Beifong,” he mumbled, flustered by the praise.

Suyin waved her hand airily. “Please—call me Suyin when we’re not in school.”

“Hey, Suyin!” Bolin greeted enthusiastically.

“Ah, Bolin,” she replied mildly. “My…pupil.”

Mako laughed at the look on Bolin’s face.

At last, Pema made it to the quartet, and piled their plates with vegetable dumplings, rice, steamed tofu, sweet buns, seaweed noodles, bean curd puffs, curry, vegetable wraps…

When she moved on to fill the adults’ dishes, Bolin stared down at his plate with an utterly perplexed expression.

He stared for a full minute before inquiring, “Where’s the meat?”

Korra exchanged a glance with Mako.

“Err…they’re vegetarians, Bo,” Korra reminded him.

Apparently, this was news to Bolin.

“What? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Does it look like they’re kidding?” Mako carped from the floor. He’d already begun eating.

Bolin’s expression suggested that he’d been the victim of a horrible crime.

“Aw, man...”

“We’ve been here before, how do you not know this?” Mako grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bolin ignored Mako, and glanced at Asami instead. “You must be dead chuffed.”

Asami beamed affirmatively. “I haven’t seen this many vegetarian options since the summer.”

Fortunately, the rest of dinner was too rambunctious for Korra’s thoughts to go awry again, so she didn’t have time to dwell on the lingering impact of Christmas’s events—or worse, what Suyin had said (which Korra still fervently hoped she’d misheard).

Once everyone had finished eating (Korra had eaten three helpings more than anyone else), Pema stood and cleared her throat.

“Now, before we go into the sitting room for presents, I have something special for the children—as I do each year,” she announced with a twinkle in her eye. All of the children exchanged gleeful looks. “This year, I decided to do things a little differently—instead of your initials, you’ll find—”

Pema waved her wand, and twelve beautifully wrapped gifts floated into the kitchen—then into each respective recipient’s arms. Asami looked baffled when one floated into her lap. She gazed at Korra quizzically.

“Go on, open it!” Korra grinned excitedly, already having had torn through hers.

Normally, Christmas sweaters from Pema were comprised of some theme or pattern, unique to each year, and embellished with each of the children’s initials. This year, they found—

“Spirit animals with your House colors!” Pema exclaimed, evidently proud of herself and pleased by the reaction her gifts had evoked; everyone was fawning over theirs. Then, her eyes widened, and she charged at her own children. “Meelo, no—don’t try to take your sister’s just because you don’t have a House yet—”

Korra’s sweater was red and gold, of course, with a polar bear dog.

Mako’s was red and gold as well, with a wolf; Bolin’s was yellow and black, with a fire ferret; Opal’s, also yellow and black, with a cat deer; Wing’s, red and gold, with an eagle hawk; Wei’s, boasting Gryffindor colors as well, with a tiger shark; Huan’s, blue and bronze, with a purple pentapus; Jinora’s, also blue and bronze, with a knowledge seeker; Ikki’s, Hufflepuff again, with a baby flying bison; Kai’s, more Gryffindor colors, with a tiger monkey; Meelo’s, the lone single-colored yellow sweater with a flying lemur; and Asami, blue and bronze, with a—

“Asami dear, I didn’t know what you would like, so I just made you the same as Korra’s—I hope you don’t mind,” Pema explained over Meelo’s flailing legs (he was currently being held upside down and shaken vigorously, for he refused to relinquish Ikki’s sweater).

Where everyone else was already donning and admiring their new sweaters, Asami was still staring at hers incredulously, as though she couldn’t believe it were hers. It lay on her lap, neatly folded, amidst carefully unraveled wrapping paper; emblazoned at its center, a howling polar bear dog.

Bolin nudged her gently. Asami jumped and then blinked several times, as if returning to the present. She only just seemed to remember that Pema was waiting for a response.

“I…o-of course I don’t mind,” Asami croaked at last. Her voice was incredibly shaky—trembling with emotion. She cleared her throat and added, “You…you didn’t have to get me anything in the first place.”

“Oh nonsense, sweetie—you’re part of the family now!” Pema beamed.

Asami’s grip on the sweater went limp.

When Korra looked at her again, the heiress’s eyes were watering.

Now was the time to squeeze her shoulder or say something affirmative. But Korra was too busy thinking about the fact that she and Asami now had matching clothing, so Bolin beat her to it.

“Welcome aboard, Capt’n,” he grinned with a comical salute.

Asami could only smile tearfully up at him.

Unsure of how to handle the missed opportunity (and lingering regret), Korra glanced around at everyone else’s sweaters instead. There were a good number of students from each House in their mix (mostly thanks to the Beifongs), all except—

“You lot have one in every House except Slytherin, eh?” Korra asked the twins, who were aggressively comparing their spirit animals.

Wei, who had his index finger jammed against Wing’s chest, was the one who answered.

“We do have a Slytherin in the family! He couldn’t be with us today, he’s—” he paused to splay a hand across his forehead dramatically “—too busy ‘setting things in order in this troubled world’ with his girlfriend.”

_Oh, right._

Korra had all but forgotten about the eldest Beifong, whom she’d only ever seen patrolling Hogwarts as Head Boy in her first year but never actually spoken to.

“I heard they got engaged,” Wing interjected, using Wei’s momentary distraction to shove him from behind.

Korra frowned.

“Wait, did you say ‘ _heard_ ’? They didn’t just tell you themselves?”

Wing’s face fell.

He rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably and, after a moment, admitted, “Jr. doesn’t really talk to us much anymore—”

“Wing, please,” Wei cut his twin off with an ostentatious flip of his hair and twirl of his wrist, “it’s _Baatar_ now.”

The twins burst into laughter, prompting Korra to join in, but somehow, she had a feeling neither of them found humor in the situation.

Someone tapped Korra on the shoulder.

Korra turned—to find Asami gazing down at her, cheeks rosy with diffidence, eyes averted, hands wrung together. She was wearing her new Christmas sweater, which, somehow, even though it draped loosely over her slender form, was oddly becoming and far too endearing; the blues and bronzes accentuated her fair skin, contrasting sharply with her dark hair, and left the heiress looking more radiant than ever.

Korra felt her face heat up.

“What do you think?” Asami asked softly.

_Say something—anything—_

Except Korra’s brain had short-circuited, and all she could manage was, “Oh…”

Asami immediately retreated a few steps. She fiddled with the hem of one of her sleeves nervously.

“Is it…bad?’

Immediately panicking, Korra blurted, “No—no! It’s good! Great even!”

_Smooth._

But the smile she got in response was dazzling, brilliant—emanating with warmth—and Korra was blinded.

Fortunately, Pema had officially lost her patience with everyone, so Korra didn’t have to speak (embarrass herself) again.

“OKAY, EVERYONE IN THE SITTING ROOM— _NOW!_ ”

So, the seventeen occupants gradually diffused into the sitting room, the narrow doorway doing nothing to expedite the process. After a good fifteen minutes of trying to present gifts in an organized manner, Pema gave up completely, and stalked over to the couch and grouched, “I’m going to murder him for leaving me to deal with this alone.”

And that was how Korra found herself surrounded by mounds of wrapping paper, ribbons, lumps of coal, leaping chocolate frogs, confetti, elf hats—all of which, had been enchanted to float by themselves—or, in the case of the wrapping paper and ribbons, gyrate around the sitting room like a tornado. The twins were howling with laughter.

Korra glanced at Bolin’s spoils: several books and supplies for Care of Magical Creatures, a handbook on Wizard’s Pai Sho (this was her gift, as she’d lost her patience after watching him lose well over a hundred games to Asami without a single triumph to his name), a Holyhead Harpies scarf (Bolin’s favorite Quidditch team—from Mako), a _Beginner’s Guide to Magical Journalism_ , which included a Quick-Quotes Quill (from Opal, which Korra thought was rather sweet, considering Bolin’s admiration for all things media-related), and from Asami, a brand new—

“NO WAY! NO WAY!” Bolin bellowed at the top of his lungs. He was bouncing up and down with glee, and Asami only had to make eye contact for him to barrel into her. “THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I’VE ALWAYS WANTED ONE!”

“No problem,” Asami chuckled, patting Bolin on the back.

Korra was quite concerned about Asami’s ability to breathe, considering Bolin was at least twice her size and currently only her head was sticking out from underneath him. Fortunately, he sprang onto his feet moments later. Taking a closer look at the shiny item he’d been brandishing in the air for the past few minutes, Korra recognized it as muggle technology; it was a long flat device, just slightly rounded at the edges, and its surface would occasionally light up with little pictures.

“What is it?” Mako inquired, disgruntled.

Obviously, he was less than pleased by Bolin’s lack of reaction to his gift.

“An iPhone X!” Bolin answered giddily.

Korra was puzzled by this, as Bolin’s ‘phone’ featured neither an eye nor an axe and looked nothing like Huan’s, which looked more like a little book.

Meanwhile, Asami had amassed her own little pile of gifts—several items related to Potions and Ancient Runes, a solid gold cauldron from Tenzin—to Korra’s shock—and Asami’s—some books on muggle technology, although, based on Asami’s amused expression, they were either misguided or things she already knew, a Wizard’s Pai Sho set from Bolin (with a note that said ‘Sorry for nicking the one from the wizard crackers’), an enormous box of variety chocolate frogs from Mako (who refused to make eye contact with her), and—

Asami glanced up at Korra with a bemused expression.

Korra felt her face heat up again.

She hadn’t put her gift for Asami under the Christmas tree (which was still lying on its side), as she felt it merited a more intimate setting than in the midst of several screaming children (and one old man) and drunken middle-aged women.

Korra smiled awkwardly and mouthed, ‘Later.’

Asami’s face brightened. She grinned sheepishly and mouthed back, ‘Me too.’

(Huan was attempting to teach Bolin how to unlock his phone, but Bolin kept screaming in alarm, “IT CAN RECOGNIZE MY FACE? HOW DOES IT KNOW MY FACE?”)

Mako was sitting—quite literally—in a pile of books. From Bolin, _Flying with the Cannons_ (Mako was a loyal fan and was waiting patiently for the Chudley Cannons to return to glory), several books on Quidditch and Transfiguration, a _Playboy_ from the twins (in addition to an actual gift—at least, Korra hoped), and from Korra, a copy of the Draconifors spellbook (she knew that for all his love of Quidditch, he was just as much of a nerd—especially when it came to Transfiguration). Only Asami had given him a non-literary gift: the latest pair of Quidditch boots from Sato Industries. Mako looked ecstatic.

The Beifongs and the children had amassed the most gifts, and Korra wasn’t entirely sure how they hadn’t gotten mixed up by now. The twins were complaining to anybody who would listen (nobody had given them anything that could be used or even re-appropriated for mischief), while Ikki and Meelo were fighting over their gifts again (Jinora looked like she wanted to melt into the floor and never resurface).

Korra couldn’t tell what Bumi was doing—he seemed far too intoxicated to be aware of his surroundings, for he kept bumping into a wall repeatedly and telling it off for being in his way—while Pema and Baatar Sr. were sitting on the couch looking incredibly distressed.

(Korra pitied Pema; the poor woman had been hobbling around all day with her magnificently swollen stomach. She couldn’t help but wonder what the baby thought of all the commotion.)

She turned her attention elsewhere.

On the other side of the Christmas tree, Korra found Kya and Kai. The latter was unwrapping a gift—presumably from Kya, who looked, to Korra’s surprise, somewhat nervous. It turned out to be a brand new Quidditch Starter Kit, and Kai’s face lit up like the lights on the Christmas tree. Then, to Korra’s immense disbelief, he dived at Kya, and shouted, “I love it!”

Kya turned bright pink, expression saturated with self-consciousness, and took several moments to collect herself before she returned the embrace.

Though Korra had never given much thought to it, she found that the pair suited each other well and that their interactions were unexpectedly sweet. If anyone could bring Kai into order, it would be Kya, who would approach the matter with a much more laidback approach rather than the typical authoritarianism that only drove Kai into more mischief. Despite what Korra had initially believed, Tenzin had done well in finding a suitable home for Kai.

Then, the boy in question turned to Lin and asked brightly, “Are you coming over for dinner again tomorrow?”

Lin promptly turned scarlet and clapped a hand over his mouth. Suyin smirked at her sister.

Korra stared.

(Bolin was now parading about the sitting room, hollering about downloading ‘Snapped Cat’ and ‘Instant Graham’; for whatever reason, this prompted gales of laughter from the twins.)  

Glancing down at her own gifts, Korra was more than content with her spoils this year. She’d received four tickets to the final match of the Quidditch World Cup next summer from Pema and Tenzin, a book on advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts—read, material that would never be covered at Hogwarts—from Lin, a platinum broomstick handle-grip (enchanted to boost control during unideal weather conditions) from Suyin and Baatar Sr., candy—that Korra had a feeling was laced with marijuana—from Kya, some sort of odd artwork—if it could be called that—from Huan, _Mastering the Elements_ from Opal, a holiday basket of sweets from Honeydukes courtesy of Jinora, a number of items from Zonko’s Joke Shop (Korra was quite certain that Kai had stolen these), and a set of gold-trimmed enchanted playing cards (the face cards would spring out of their positions and fight with each other or give advice to the player) from Bolin.

Beside these, there was a parcel from her parents, wrapped in tiger-seal paper. Korra opened it—to discover a festival anorak (the Southern Wizarding Tribe equivalent of dress robes), sky blue, sleeves adorned with beads and tribal patterns, and homemade seal jerky, to her utter delight. There was a letter attached to it, but Korra was saving it for later; she had no doubt that her parents had been informed of the attack and it was one of many campaigns to bring her home. (Again, despite the initial flare of resistance, it soon waned, and suddenly the idea wasn’t entirely unpleasant.)

Korra counted her gifts—and then recounted. There was nothing from the children, of course, the twins had already given her a gift, and she’d spoken to Asami, but she was still one short—

Someone tapped Korra on the shoulder.

Korra glanced up to find Mako holding something behind his back, looking anywhere but at her.

He cleared his throat.

“I have your gift,” Mako declared, with about as much enthusiasm as a dying turtle.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “About time.”

Mako blanched—then, when Korra burst into laughter—realized she was joking and rolled his eyes. Clearing his throat again, he shoved a very poorly wrapped package at her unceremoniously. Korra had to applaud him for effort; while it was torn or else desperately patched together in several places, Mako hadn’t bothered to wrap anyone else’s gift.

Korra was stunned by what she found.

“Mako, I…” she looked down at the gift and then back at him. “I can’t accept this.”

Mako had gotten her a pair of brand new Sato Industries Quidditch gloves. They weren’t just any gloves—they were the latest model, padded on the inside and equipped with enchanted finger grips and automatic temperature control. Sato Industries equipment was known to be notoriously expensive; as top-of-the-line in the sporting equipment industry, they’d enjoyed what was as close to a monopoly as one could have in the wizarding world (until the recent news).

“It wasn’t that much,” Mako replied, rubbing the back of his neck. He was pointedly avoiding her gaze as he spoke. “Their prices have dropped a lot because of…what happened with Hiroshi and all. Plus, Asami gave me a discount.”

Korra felt dreadful—she’d given Mako a book, and he’d probably emptied up his (already destitute) bank vault to buy this for her.

“I don’t—"

“I already gave you three months to buy new Quidditch gloves, and you didn’t. So, this is an order, coming from your Captain,” Mako interrupted. The crack in his voice dampened the effect of this ‘order.’

Korra hesitated.

“C’mon,” Mako insisted, almost whining at this point. “I know we only have one match left this year, but you still have another year at Hogwarts so…I figured these would come in handy. Especially if—I mean— _when_ you’re made Quidditch Captain.”

Korra felt as though she’d been struck over the head.

Considering Mako had served as such a consistent captain since his fifth year, the thought of another team captain had never occurred to her. She soon realized he was right; either she or Wing would be made captain next year.

And Mako believed it would be her.

Heart swelling, she beamed up at Mako.

“All right, you win. Thanks, Mako,” Korra said softly.

Mako, who’d been addressing the ceiling, stole a glance at Korra. When he found that her resistance had vanished, he offered her a tiny smile in return.

A beat.

“Korra, come have a chocolate frog with me,” Asami requested abruptly.

Korra turned to Asami, who was holding out the box Mako had given her. There was a mild note of—something—on her face; when Korra glanced back at Mako, she found the vague sentiment mirrored on his face.

_What is happening?_

“Err…yeah, all right,” Korra agreed, puzzled.

Mako looked tremendously dour all of a sudden, but he said nothing, stalking off to his corner again. Korra blinked.

She got to her feet—and then promptly collapsed.

“I’ll come to you,” Asami amended quickly, darting to Korra’s side.

“Damn leg,” Korra grumbled, accepting Asami’s outstretched hand. “It’s not like I’ve never injured it before, dunno why it’s giving me so much trouble…”

Something flashed across Asami’s face at that—but it disappeared before Korra could decipher it. The heiress said nothing, and pulled Korra into an upright position. “Here, try the hazelnut ones…they’re your favorite, right…?”

One (delicious) hazelnut chocolate frog later, Korra was inspecting her new Famous Witches and Wizards Card.

To her surprise, it was Yakone.

Korra didn’t know much about him, only that, sometime during the restoration period following the Hundred Year War, he had tortured muggle-borns with dark magic. Yakone looked something like a chiseled potato, for his head was large and unshapely, but his cheekbones and forehead were prominent; his hair was slicked back in the fashion of muggle mobsters, and melded into a neatly trimmed pair of muttonchops. There was something about his eyes, strangely familiar…

Korra flipped the card over to read:

_Yakone of the Northern Wizarding Tribe, missing._

_Known as a crime lord that threatened London for well over a decade, Yakone was most infamous for cultivating a special brand of the Imperius Curse that went beyond the bounds of the ordinary curse; he was able to control hundreds of people at a time (mostly Ministry officials and muggle-borns)._

There was something there, then, at the back of Korra’s mind—as though she’d heard something similar before. She couldn’t quite place it.

_He used this uncanny ability to rise to the top of the underground crime scene, alongside his notorious use of the Cruciatus Curse to terrorize muggles and muggle-borns. Following capture, Yakone was sentenced to a Dementor’s Kiss at his trial; he attempted to escape detainment but was quickly captured again by Aang the Chosen, who took his magic away permanently. Unfortunately, he was later freed from Azkaban by his accomplices, currently standing as the only wizard who has ever escaped, and has been missing ever since._

Korra was startled.

_I didn’t know anyone besides Ozai had their magic taken away…Aang must’ve been really upset…_

“I didn’t know criminals got cards,” Korra commented, glancing sideways at Asami.

“Well, I got Princess Azula, so apparently they do,” Asami replied absentmindedly, busy reading the biography.

The mood died down eventually as everyone grew drowsy, stomachs weighed down with Pema’s cooking, and it was only the promise of the new year that kept (most of) them awake.

Baatar Sr. was nursing a—an entire bottle of firewhisky by himself, looking as though he’d aged fifteen years in that evening alone. Korra wondered if he regretted marrying into a magical family, but knew his fascination with the intersection of magic and technology was perhaps too ardent to leave any room for remorse. Bumi was passed out on the floor, and the twins were busy drawing doodles on his face. The children had finally calmed down, exchanging candy and Famous Witches and Wizard Cards amongst themselves, while Pema and Lin were discussing something—perhaps grave, but Korra didn’t want to give it too much thought—at the dinner table. Huan was quietly humming to himself, reading some sort of comic book from Japan (Korra had been told they were called ‘mangoes’) on Tenzin’s armchair. Mako seemed to be asking Suyin for advice on something, and Korra swore she heard him say ‘animagus’ but couldn’t be entirely sure.

Opal and Bolin were cuddled on the couch, discussing his first ‘Instant Graham’ post. It was a selfie he’d taken with the whole group, but it was so blurry and badly-framed that you couldn’t really tell what was happening; his ‘hashtags’ were also formatted incorrectly, as there were spaces between them, and he was very upset that some of the words weren’t blue. Opal, who had two-hundred-thousand ‘followers’ (Korra found this highly concerning, as nobody should have that many people following them), was pinching the bridge of her nose.

There were two hours left until midnight, and Korra suspected the ambience would remain as such until the last ten minutes when everyone would be overcome with a sudden burst of holiday spirit.

Korra herself was at a loss for what to do, given that everyone seemed preoccupied with activities that didn’t interest her. It was only when she glanced around that she noticed Asami was missing. Frowning, she rose to her feet (albeit, very slowly, with the support of a nearby bookshelf).

Fortunately, Korra didn’t have to go very far—Asami was standing outside on the balcony. She was leaning against the railing, gazing out into the ocean; with the warm glow of the fireplace reflected against the glass door and snow falling down around her, she looked something like an angel.

Korra thumbed the articles in her pocket nervously.

Now was a good a time as any to give Asami her gift—before the New Year count started and pandemonium broke out again.

Taking a deep breath, Korra began making her way to the balcony—

She’d taken about one step before someone called, “Korra?”

Korra paused.

She hadn’t expected to hear that voice anytime soon.

Korra turned around to find Tenzin gazing down at her, still wearing his coat over his robes. He must’ve just arrived, judging from how red his nose was.

There was a very deep fatigue etched onto Tenzin’s features; however, despite how dead his eyes were, there was something in them that screamed ‘important.’

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” he continued gravely.

Korra hesitated, then, sensing his urgency, nodded.

“Excellent. Let’s talk in my study.”

So Korra followed Tenzin to his study, casting a wistful look over her shoulder at the balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao y’all were freaking out about Asami. I just turned that scene where Tarrlok kidnaps Korra and Mako is there for her when she wakes up on its head so that Makorra gets a slap in the face. Actually, if you read carefully, this entire chapter was full of Makorra and Korrasami parallelism, but most of it was anti-Makorra symbolism. You’re welcome. 
> 
> Side note: Having to change between American Asami and British Asami is a huge concern for me so please do point out any instances of her being American in Korra's presence (when they're alone) or British in the others' presence. 
> 
> Also, who caught that Bumbleby reference? 👀


	21. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year Pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been having writer’s block because I’m stressed about producing the perfect product but…I realize you guys probably aren’t as critical as I am about this.  
> Sorry if the chapter feels slow, but this is all necessary for the story to progress. I hope you understand ^^;  
> Anyway, sentimentality aside, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3 I’m going to be dead for the rest of the month, but I wanted to leave you guys with something until I have time to write again. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season while I’m gone. Merry Christmas, everyone!

* * *

Korra had never been allowed in Tenzin’s study before.

Until she’d been made prefect, he’d (adamantly) mandated that she and the children stay clear of the corridor altogether. Then, in her fifth year, she’d been at least allowed to roam the hallway outside of it.

Glancing around, Korra found that it wasn’t too different from Tenzin’s office at school. It was proportionately larger, given that professors spent most of their time in their classrooms rather than their offices, with hardwood flooring instead of cobblestone, but the decorations were almost exactly the same. There was a fireplace to the left of Tenzin’s desk—a massive, beautiful thing of mahogany—a few scriptures from Buddha and the Dalai Lama hanging along the walls, and two chairs—the one behind the desk more grandiose, of course. The most prominent distinction was perhaps the large picture window behind Tenzin’s desk, which, Korra liked to imagine, cast him in a comical, sort of angelic glow during the day. Currently, it made him look even more fatigued.

Tenzin sat down at his desk with a great swish of his robes and an even greater sigh. He lowered his head and pinched his temples with his middle finger and thumb. He remained that way for several moments, with an eerie resemblance to the Gargoyle statue that lead to the Headmaster’s Office.

Then, at last, without lifting his head—

“How are you doing, Korra?”

Korra wanted to ask Tenzin the same question.

“All right,” she replied with a raised eyebrow. She accepted the seat across from him, and added, “How about you? You don’t look so good, champ.”

At this, Tenzin raised his head; there was the ghost of a smile on his face.

Still, he looked as though he’d lost ten years of his life. The harsh glow of the fire contrasted unbecomingly with the darkness pouring in through the windows, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, and Korra pitied Tenzin more than she thought herself capable.

“Lots to do,” Tenzin answered wearily. “As you know, Raiko has been AWOL. Even if he’s taking time off work, he’s completely fallen off the grid…I almost suspect he has no intention of returning.” Korra also suspected this—and if Tenzin didn’t look so exhausted as a consequence—would’ve been ecstatic. “Which means everything has fallen on my head…the matter of reaching out to students to inquire who’s returning and who’s not—” Tenzin’s expression suggested many were not “—dealing with the parents of purebloods and muggle-borns, who’ve been sending contradicting Howlers all week—” Korra grimaced, she didn’t doubt that they were distraught by the news “—having to find a replacement for Sato and now Tarrlok, as well as clean up after his mess. Bastard—Raiko never should’ve hired him in the first place,” he muttered, to Korra’s shock.

Tenzin never cursed.

“On top of all this, we now have to reconfigure security for the sto—” Tenzin stopped talking abruptly, as though just remembering that he wasn’t supposed to discuss this matter with students. Then, he glanced at Korra and shrugged. “Well, it’s not as though you don’t know.”

Korra grinned guiltily. “Sorry…”

Tenzin shook his head. “It’s your quick thinking that saved it…speaking of which—”

His face darkened, and Korra immediately recoiled in her seat.

_Time for another lecture._

“We have to talk about what happened, don’t we?” she mumbled.

Tenzin nodded grimly; the reproach in his eyes was as prominent as ever. “As much as I’d like for you to rest first, it’s part of protocol whenever a calamity like this arises.” He sighed. “Additionally, your testimony will help with the current investigation…Hogwarts’ public image is now utterly soiled—first, an undercover Equalist as a professor, then a troll breaking in during a feast, and now, a professor attacking students and attempting to steal school property—” Tenzin groaned, rubbed his forehead “—needless to say, the mounds of _Evening Prophet_ s haven’t helped.”

Korra winced.

She hadn’t read any herself—and preferred not to.

“What’s going on?” she pressed, hoping to deflect attention away from her blatant disobedience of—everything.

Tenzin clearly wasn’t fooled, but he humored her anyway.

“I think it goes without saying that Tarrlok is no longer an employee of Hogwarts. The bastard vanished before we could apprehend him, and there’s no telling where he is now…”

A chill passed over Korra.

_Excellent—another untracked enemy on the loose._

“I always knew he was up to something, that no good son of a bitch,” Tenzin continued through gritted teeth. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I am looking into disbanding the task force, effective immediately. The Ministry has launched an investigation as well—trying to gather more intelligence regarding Tarrlok’s background and motives, given that there isn’t a lot known about him before my father took him in. There’s a bounty out for him—not nearly as large as the one on Sato, given that the attempted robbery has been framed much more…benevolently for the public—” which meant that anything pertaining to the stone had been omitted “—and they’re sealing off his office for the time being, until they can find out more. They’re going through the castle as well, enhancing security and such….” Tenzin sighed, for perhaps the umpteenth time. “I doubt they’ll unearth anything significant, though.”

Korra nodded solemnly, dejectedly, in agreement.

Then, Tenzin’s eyes narrowed, and he folded his hands together on the desk.

“Now, young lady, tell me exactly what happened on Christmas.”

Korra shrank in her seat—nearly sliding off altogether. “You’re going to yell at me, aren’t you?”

“Only after you’re done.”

Korra made a face.

“And don’t even think about sitting in silence until I cave.”

Korra scowled. “No fair, I didn’t give you permission to read my mind—”

Tenzin’s nostrils flared. “And _I_ gave you permission to launch some kind of vigilante mission with your friends to trespass through prohibited school areas and search for something you were never supposed to know existed in the first place?”

Korra promptly closed her mouth.

She lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Tenzin took a deep breath. Composed himself. “We will discuss that later. First—”

He reached into his robes and produced a translucent, neon blue cube; he then placed the cube on the desk and tapped it lightly with his wand. The walls of the cube gave away, and at its center hovered some sort of vortex, glowing brilliantly.

Korra eyed it suspiciously.

Tenzin sighed (again). “It’s to record your testimony.”

“Okay,” Korra acquiesced.

Then, she sighed too. She’d only been conscious for a few hours—this was the last thing she wanted to discuss.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to begin, “All right, there’s no excuse for why we decided to try and track down the troll ourselves. But—as for the—” she glanced at the cube dubiously “—y’know what, I noticed Tarrlok wasn’t at the feast. I put two and two together and realized that he must’ve been the one to let the troll in—that it was a distraction so he could go after the…artefact. Asami and I went down to the third floor and found him there. We followed him through the trapdoor, and—”

Korra flinched violently.

Fangs—enormous, inconceivable—extending towards her—vivid yellow–she couldn’t look—eyes that held her own mortality—insurmountable anguish—the feeling of life itself slowly slipping away—

The memory of the Basilisk swept over Korra like a tidal wave—the dams of denial had been shattered inexorably, and the dread of that night came back like a crashing flood, ramming into her and engulfing her whole—

“Korra?”

Tenzin’s voice, gentle, concerned, brought her back to the moment.

She glanced down—his hand was on hers. Korra was gripping the table—clinging to it desperately—gasping for breath, and sweating profusely.

When had that happened?

Tenzin bit his lip. “Will you be all right to carry on?”

_I don’t want to._

A beat.

Then—

Korra, still trembling, nodded. “I have to.”

Tenzin looked hesitant, but he caught the fire in her eyes, and relented. Releasing her hand, he gave her a curt nod.

After a moment, Korra pressed on shakily, “We ran into the…the B-Basilisk. Tarrlok was controlling it with the Imperius Curse—” Tenzin’s jaw clenched at this, but it didn’t seem like entirely new information—she suspected he’d interviewed Asami first— “I-I don’t know how—but he managed to make it fight us and not him. I tried to keep it at bay with elemental magic but…” Korra sighed—shamefully, resentfully, “I’m no good at fighting. I was just dragging Asami down and then…well…I got bit. Everything is hazy after that—I heard some shouting and crying but…that’s the last thing I remember.”

Satisfied, Tenzin nodded, and then waved his wand over the dismembered cube. At once, it sprang back into its original shape, and floated into Tenzin’s pocket.

“I’ll make sure only officials who are aware of the stone’s existence hear this.” Korra frowned. _I thought only the professors knew about the stone? How many others know?_ “Thank you, Korra, this will be critical to the investigation.” Then, Tenzin ran a hand over his head, and fixed Korra with a glare. “That doesn’t mean your actions are excused.”

Korra’s heart sank.

She remained silent, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“Korra, I made myself very clear to you when you first told me about your visions—you must tell me everything. I know that, following your departure from the task force, you have done your best to do so.” Tenzin’s eyes hardened. “But not telling me about the research you and your friends have been performing, in flagrant disobedience of my instructions to put aside the Chosen One matter, and then not only disobeying the faculty’s orders to steer clear of danger on Christmas but actively seeking it out—” Tenzin exhaled deeply through his nose. He was so red in the face Korra was afraid his head might burst; his expression was not unlike the one his wife had been wearing earlier. “You could’ve died. You nearly _did._ ”  

Korra stole a glance at Tenzin.

She knew that it—his outburst, his anger—was out of concern more than anything. She knew this, because Tenzin was holding back; he hadn’t raised his voice as much as he usually did, and had eyed her cautiously the whole time he’d admonished her. So, she held her tongue.

Tenzin paused for a moment, as though surprised by Korra’s lack of resistance, and then continued, “I have half a mind to ban you from the final Quidditch match—” Korra’s eyes widened in horror “—but, I won’t.” Korra blinked rapidly. Tenzin sighed, in apparent resignation. “Because if it wasn’t for you and Ms. Sato, the wizarding world as we know it may have ceased to exist by now.” 

Korra stared.

_Am I…really being let off the hook?_

It appeared so, for Tenzin’s ire seemed to have evaporated, and had been replaced with a pensive expression.

Korra held her breath, not wanting to push her luck.

After an eternity, Tenzin stated, in a much milder voice, “There’s one more thing I’d like to ask you.”

Korra nodded her consent mutely.

“Did anything else happen down there—in the chamber?”

At Korra’s bemusement, Tenzin explained, “Basilisk venom is immensely powerful. It takes less than a minute to kill most wizards—a little over a minute, under extremely fortunate circumstances. Ms. Sato told me it took her at least fifteen minutes to transport you from the third floor to the Potions classroom.”

Korra felt her jaw drop.

_I…survived…for fifteen times longer than the average wizard?_

Tenzin seemed to share this sentiment. “It’s an unprecedented event—entirely unheard of.”

Korra lowered her eyes, rubbed her shoulder self-consciously.

_Every time I’ve tried to discuss this with him, he shuts me down…_

It appeared Tenzin had peered into her mind again, for he murmured softly, “Korra, look at me.”

Hesitantly, slowly, she dragged her eyes up from the floor and met Tenzin’s gaze.

There was something different there, this time, something vastly unlike all the other times. Before, there had been—honestly—a great deal of reproach, denial, and, though Tenzin would never admit it, fear and uncertainty on his part. Korra hadn’t thought of it until now, but perhaps there was some unknown responsibility he bore, regarding her, as her mentor; perhaps there was something more that no one had told her (as they often didn’t), and it was this invisible string that kept Tenzin in place.

When she looked now, there was only tenderness—and something bordering on apologetic.

“I haven’t told you about your destiny not because I do not trust you or because I think you’re incompetent. Someone—I suppose, the architect behind all this—” _Aang,_ Korra guessed “—made your parents and I—all of us—” Korra wondered briefly who ‘all of us’ was “—swear not to discuss the matter with you until you came of age.”

Korra blinked.

_“Err, how old are you?”_

_“Sixteen.”_

_Sokka’s tail swished anxiously._

_“In that case, nothing at all! Don’t worry your little head!” he replied with forced cheeriness._

She slid down in her seat, suddenly very weak in the legs.

It felt as though a great weight had been lifted at last. Even if it wasn’t now—even if it was several months away—at last, Korra would hear the truth. And, perhaps, knowing it was something— _someone_ —beyond them, made it easier to forgive her parents, surrogate parents—everyone who knew—for keeping it from her.

Relieved and revitalized, Korra met Tenzin’s gaze determinedly.

“I’m not entirely sure if this is why, but—whenever my life is at risk or I get crossed, I get this…sudden burst of power—like, a whole surge of magical aura. It doesn’t feel like my own, but it sort of…fuses with mine, I reckon?” Korra explained lamely, wishing she were able to better articulate the sensation. “I…I think that saved me. Asami said my eyes were glowing,” she added as an afterthought.

Tenzin looked as though someone had dumped ice water all over him.

He nodded belatedly, musing, “Interesting…I didn’t think it would kick in so soon…” Korra’s curiosity was piqued, of course, regarding this ‘it.’ But she remained silent. She could wait a few months—it was better than nothing. “Well, it’s certainly not unwelcome. I’m glad to hear it saved you.”

“Me too,” Korra joked weakly.

Tenzin smiled sympathetically.

Then, he sighed.  

Somehow, even before he said it, Korra knew exactly what he was going to say.

“I must say, I’m relieved to hear that your testimony aligns with Ms. Sato’s.”

Time slowed to a crawl.

If it were Lin, Korra would’ve rolled her eyes; if it were Lin, Korra would’ve been irritated that she still suspected Asami.

But it wasn’t.

It was Tenzin.

It was Tenzin, and there was something in that statement, something too telling, too knowing—

It was Tenzin—Tenzin, the Legilimens—the Legilimens who’d been training Korra for months—

Korra’s heart stopped.

_He knows._

She leapt to her feet—and then crumpled immediately.

Tenzin’s eyes widened and he reached out for her. “Korra, be careful—”

“Sir, Asami’s innocent,” Korra fired off at once, nails digging into the armrests of her chair. She stumbled forward, catching herself ungracefully on the desk— “She—she didn’t do anything wrong—she’s on our side, she saved my life—please don’t turn her in, sir—sir _please_ —”

Korra was sobbing now, blabbering unintelligibly, and soon her breathing had grown too uneven to speak properly.

Tenzin’s face was unreadable. 

He waited until Korra had stilled before showing any sort of reaction.

When she’d settled down, Tenzin gestured for her to be seated again.

_No—no please…hear me out…_

But Korra complied, anyway, unable to look directly at her mentor.

When she finally met his eyes, to her immense disbelief, Tenzin’s gaze was soft.

Then, he admitted in a gentle voice, “Korra…I’ve known for weeks.”

Korra froze at this.

At the implications.

Tenzin had known for weeks—and yet, Asami was here, in his home, with them.

Slowly, Korra sat back down in her chair.

She felt as though her soul had left her body.

After a few moments, she glanced back up at Tenzin inquisitively. He was watching her with an amused expression on his face.

“You’ve…known?” Korra sniffed.

Tenzin nodded, still smiling.

“And you…let her stay with us?”

Tenzin chuckled.

“I _am_ the Head of Ravenclaw—I have to look after my students. Anyone who doesn’t have a place to go has a place with us.”

At that, all the affection Korra had for her surrogate father welled up inside her, and she could no longer hold back the tears she’d been fighting.

Tenzin’s eyes widened. “Korra, wait—"

But Korra had already launched herself at him. Tenzin’s chair squeaked in protest at the additional weight—Korra was just grateful it hadn’t snapped in half.

She was crying again, blubbering incoherently into Tenzin’s robes.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Korra thought of the unreasonably expensive gift Tenzin had given Asami—he’d known, of course, he’d known—

She couldn’t really put what this meant to her into words. Almost two months of keeping a secret that had the power to part the tides—the power to rip apart their family—to herself, not knowing which side to protect—not knowing whether the sides would remain the same if she divulged the secret—

And now, knowing that someone she’d feared would be one of their strongest adversaries was one of their strongest supporters—

Korra’s heart was brimming with gratitude, all but bursting at the seams.

“If you want to keep secrets from me, you should perform better during our Occlumency lessons,” Tenzin chortled, patting her on the back.

Korra pulled back to grin sheepishly at him.

Tenzin returned the smile. Then, he tilted his head, and added, “Korra, I know I am rather spry for my age, but I _am_ getting old.”

Korra immediately clambered off Tenzin.

“Right, sorry…”

He chortled as she scrambled back into her own chair, flushed with embarrassment.

She had sat in Tenzin’s lap many times as a child, but carrying a burly sixteen-year-old couldn’t be an easy task for someone approaching their sixties.

Eyes twinkling, Tenzin continued, “I’ve seen more than just her past, Korra. I’ve seen everything she’s done for you—everything she’s done for us, for the wizarding world. I haven’t forgotten what she did in the Room of Requirement—and for that, we’re all indebted to her. Her sense of justice is unparalleled. If Ms. Sato has chosen our side, then we’re most fortunate to have her.”

He paused there. There seemed to be something else he wanted to say, something else he wanted to add—as if he knew something about Asami that Korra didn’t.

Tenzin decided against it, and said instead, “It was her quick thinking that saved you, after all.”

Korra nodded, beaming. “Asami told me—Phoenix tears.”

To her bemusement, Tenzin gazed at her with an odd expression.

“Is that all she told you?”

Korra hesitated.

_Err…well, she told me about the Cruciatus Curse but I don’t know if I should tell you that…_

Then, the phrasing of Tenzin’s question really hit her, and she realized he wasn’t asking her to tell him more—he was asking her if _she_ knew everything.

“Err…”

Tenzin’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”

He cast a surreptitious glance at Korra, as though not entirely sure he should share this information with her.

Several moments passed.

Finally—

“I believe Ms. Sato was trying to spare you the emotional trauma.”

Korra stared.

_Emotional…trauma…?_

Then, something flickered at the back of her mind—

_“Don’t worry too much—you’re already moving around quite well for someone who lost a leg!”_

Slowly, slower than she’d ever moved in her life, Korra gazed down at her leg.

It was the first time she’d actually looked down at her feet closely since she’d awoken, having had been dressed by Pema earlier. She nearly fainted at the sight that awaited her.

Peeking out of her cast were her toes—

Toes not yet fully formed.

Korra nearly vomited.

A chill passed over her—no, everything was hot—too hot—then why was she shivering—

The world felt so distant and her head felt so heavy.

It was back, again—that terrible dread she hadn’t been able to shake off; the overwhelming, nauseating sense of fear that had no intent of relinquishing Korra.

“Ms. Sato…had to…” _don’t say it, please don’t say it–_ “sever your leg to keep the poison from spreading further,” Tenzin began slowly, cautiously, gazing at Korra as if she might spontaneously combust.

 _No…_ no…

Korra’s knuckles were white, she was gripping the armrests so tightly.

“It was brilliant on her part—it worked, and combining Phoenix Tears with Essence of Dittany helped close off the wound without leaving any traces of venom.”

That explained why this morning’s healing session was more excruciating than Korra had ever known it—why the fibers of her calf felt as if they’d been set on fire every time she moved too suddenly.

“Honestly, I’m shocked at how quickly your leg has grown back—it usually takes wizards months to grow back limbs, even with magic,” Tenzin added, perhaps in an attempt to console Korra (it went in vain).

 _Maybe it’s more Chosen One magic,_ Korra thought dryly.

“By the time we return to school, it should be back to normal.”

Korra didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think.

Tenzin’s reassurance had little effect—she still felt dreadful.

The news had come crashing like an avalanche, and Korra was now buried under the weight of the knowledge that she’d come close to dying more times in the past four months than she had in her entire life. And now, one of her legs wasn’t even entirely hers. (Even if it was, it felt foreign, unsolicited.)

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Korra pleaded weakly, in a feeble (futile) attempt to distract herself. “About Asami?”

Tenzin shook his head.

“You have my word. I fear in the current environment, divulging Ms. Sato’s former allegiance even to our closest companions may not be received well…”

Korra thought of Lin, of Mako, and couldn’t help but agree.

Then, Tenzin grew solemn again, fixing Korra with an austere expression.

_Blast it, I thought we were done with that…_

“Korra…although I am disappointed by your impulsiveness—” Korra grimaced “—I am just as proud.”

Korra’s jaw dropped.

Tenzin averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

Without looking at Korra, he continued, “I’ve had the privilege of being your mentor for the last six years, and…I’ve seen you grown exponentially in that time. From the headstrong little troublemaker who couldn’t stop breaking things to a fully-fledged…” _Chosen One_ “…prefect who always puts others before themselves. You’ve become a protector, a leader. Your judgment in people is impeccable—far more accurate than my father’s.” Tenzin’s face darkened momentarily. Then, it vanished, and he pressed on, “I’m sorry for treating you like a child. You’ve behaved more like an adult than most of us have these past few months—facing challenge after challenge without faltering, instead, exemplifying extraordinary resilience.

“Although my colleagues may not agree with my decision, I’ve decided not to interfere with your…‘research’ as you put it.” Tenzin’s eyes twinkled again. “I won’t aid you, but I won’t stop you. Afterall, you did heed my warning about Noatak.”

Korra had all but forgotten about him, about the two boys in her dream, about Tarrlok and his older brother. All she’d been able to focus on was the fact that Aang could somehow contact her from the afterlife—if there was one.

Tenzin exhaled deeply, and then met Korra’s gaze with startling resolve. “No matter what happens next, you have my full, unconditional support. I trust you, Korra.”

Korra felt numb.

She’d wanted to hear these words for so long—and now that she had, she didn’t feel like she deserved them.

Tenzin seemed just as surprised by her lack of reaction.

“Korra, are you all right?”

“I…I don’t know if that’s true,” Korra said at last. Her eyes were on the floor.

Tenzin raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Korra’s hands were trembling.

“I…I am faltering,” she admitted quietly. “I _am_ afraid. After everything that’s happened…I’m scared. I…” Korra trailed off, unable to continue.

The words seemed much heavier, much more daunting out loud, and she felt hollow after revealing the fact.

Tenzin smiled sadly at her.

“Korra…it’s okay to be afraid,” he said gently. Korra raised her eyes, gazed at Tenzin dismally. “Even if you’ve behaved with maturity far beyond your years—you’re only sixteen. Nobody expects you to be perfect. Nobody expects you to know exactly what to do or be able to handle this right now. You have every right to be afraid, to want and need time to heal.”

“Are you sure?” Korra’s voice cracked.

Tenzin nodded.

“Actually, that brings me to my final point.” He drew his wand and cried, “ _Accio!”_

 _I still need to learn that,_ Korra thought to herself as a scroll whizzed into Tenzin’s outstretched hand.

Recognizing the tiger-seal parchment paper, Korra realized it was the (unopened) letter from her parents.

“You haven’t read this yet, have you?” Tenzin inquired with a knowing smile.

Korra could only grin sheepishly in response.

Tenzin held out the letter to her. “Go on. You can’t avoid it forever.”

Korra wanted to disagree, but she obliged anyway.

_Dear Korra,_

_We heard what happened on Christmas. While Tenzin has assured us that you are safe and recovering well, we no longer feel safe having you stay at Hogwarts. The dangers you’ve faced this year are beyond alarming, and you can’t imagine how worried we’ve been only receiving bad news every single month._

_The fact that a Hogwarts professor attacked you is terrifying—how could we possibly feel safe knowing the very place designed to protect you harbors people who want to hurt you? While we’re very grateful that your friend managed to save you, the fact that we need to rely on students to keep you safe from professors is atrocious._

_Please return home at once. We trust that you will owl us with your expected arrival time and will prepare your room accordingly._

_Love,_

_Mom and Dad_

Korra had finished reading the letter relatively quickly, but she read it, and re-read it, and kept re-reading it. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Her parents weren’t wrong—and that made it all the more terrifying.

Korra _had_ almost died every single month this year. A Hogwarts professor—multiple, in fact, though she wasn’t sure if her parents knew about the other one— _had_ attacked her. A student—whose mission was once to hand deliver her to Amon—had been the one to save her.

Korra was only sixteen, but she’d had more near-death experiences in the last few months alone than most people had in their lifetimes.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Tenzin began carefully.

Korra nodded numbly.

She’d barely heard him.

Tenzin pursed his lips.

“I wanted to ask if you’re all right with my mother taking over in the hospital wing for the remainder of the year. Pema is too far along in her pregnancy to continue working—the baby is due in the next one to two months.”

Korra blinked.

That was not the question she’d been expecting.

“Err…sure? Why are you asking me? Isn’t that an administrative decision?”

Tenzin nodded. “It is, and I’ve already received approval from the rest of the faculty. However…” he used his chin to indicate her leg, “I want to make sure you’re comfortable with this arrangement, as she’ll be the one overseeing the rest of your treatment. That is, if you’re sensitive to any changes in your healer?”

Korra shook her head. “I mean, I grew up with Katara. So, yeah, it’s fine.” She paused. “Is that the only reason…?”

Tenzin suddenly seemed very busy with the nails on his left hand.

Without looking at Korra, he cleared his throat and added, “That was also your parents’ sole condition in order for you to be able to stay at Hogwarts. Having my mother—Katara—there, to be able to protect you.”

Considering Katara was well into her eighties, the thought of her dueling in one of her old nightgowns was rather comical to Korra. However, she knew very well that Katara was a legendary duelist and had been the one to subdue Princess Azula in the Hundred Year War.

“How long did it take you to wrangle that?” Korra chuckled.

Tenzin rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I believe it was three Howlers and an hour-long debate over Floo.”

They both laughed.

It was short-lived, however, and the resulting atmosphere was even more ambivalent. It was perhaps an accurate representation of Korra’s feelings regarding the matter.

Tenzin studied Korra for a moment and then sighed.

“Don’t worry about the effort I put into convincing your parents—that was only to give you the option of staying.”

He reached out and placed a hand over hers. Tenzin gazed at Korra meaningfully, more seriously than he ever had.

“Korra, if you want to go home, you are more than welcome to. You are by no means obligated to stay at Hogwarts. You’ve been through more in this school year alone than most people go through in their lifetimes.”

 _Tell me about it,_ Korra thought.

But what she said was, “I’ll think about it.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Korra left Tenzin’s study, an hour had passed.

Baatar Sr. was now fast asleep, and his bottle of firewhisky was missing—or else, confiscated. The children seemed to be in a food coma, the women were muttering quietly amongst themselves in the dining room (or else, holding Pema back from attacking her equally overworked husband), and the teenagers had disappeared. Korra suspected they were in her—currently, Mako and Bolin’s—room playing cards (most likely her new set).

However, to her surprise (and relief), Asami was still on the balcony, so Korra decided against joining them.

Asami’s gift weighed a ton in her pocket.

“Aren’t you cold?” Korra inquired, sliding the glass door shut behind her.

Asami jumped, clearly not having had expected company.

Korra’s eyes trailed down to the glass in Asami’s hand, and she suspected that she’d found the culprit behind the missing firewhisky.

“I didn’t take it,” Asami said immediately, when she saw Korra’s line of sight. At the suspicious look on Korra’s face, she rolled her eyes and explained, “He asked me to put it away—and then passed out. He never said I couldn’t have any.”

Korra laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Bolin.”

Asami grinned cheekily. “Perhaps.” She tilted her head at Korra. “Do you want some?”

“With the week I’ve had? Yeah, I could use a drink.”

Asami waved her wand wordlessly. The glass door slid open by itself, and another glass floated out. With another flick of her wand, the glass door slid shut; the bottle of firewhisky popped open and poured a generous amount into the second glass, which then glided into Korra’s hand.

“You should stop showing off your incredible magical prowess,” Korra joked. Then, she remembered the conversation she’d just had with Tenzin. “Err, wait—maybe you really should.”

Asami arced an eyebrow.

“You should keep a low profile,” Korra elaborated, taking a sip of firewhisky.

At once, warmth spread from the top of her head down to her fingertips, and she understood why Asami hadn’t frozen to death by now. (Then, she was concerned—how many drinks had Asami had?)

Comprehension dawned on Asami’s face (so not many drinks, Korra thought) and she nodded in agreement. “You’re right. My mistake.” Then, she smirked impishly. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re jealous?”

Korra groaned and Asami burst into laughter.

“I hate Ikki,” Korra grumbled.

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Korra sighed in unfortunate agreement.

They were quiet after that.

It was exceptionally frigid outside; it’d stopped snowing, but the chill hung in the air like an unwelcome guest. The ocean breeze did nothing to help.

The setting wasn’t entirely unpleasant, however. With the warm glow from the house, the light layer of snow that had settled along the wooden railing, and the moonlight dancing on the ocean in a perpetual waltz, Korra found that it served as the perfect end to an overly stimulating evening.

They’d both gone through two glasses of firewhisky before either of them spoke again.

Korra glanced sideways at Asami. Asami, who’d taken the first opportunity to escape the crowd—Asami, who’d been standing out on the balcony alone for over an hour.

Naturally, it was Korra who broke the silence.

“The whole Basilisk affair probably didn’t help with your elemental magic dilemma, huh?”

Asami grimaced. “Not really.”

She took a long drink from her glass.

Korra bit her lip.

She tapped the side of her glass for a few seconds, deliberating.

Deciding to go ahead with it, Korra admitted quietly, “Tenzin told me what you did.”

There was more, of course. But Asami didn’t have to know that right this instant. Not after everything.

Asami nearly spit out her drink. “He did?”

Korra looked away.

“Yeah.”

Asami’s eyes widened. They darted down to Korra’s leg and then back up to Korra.

There was an unhealthy amount of guilt on her face. She began fiddling with the stem of her glass.

Stealing a glance at Korra, Asami asked, in a barely audible voice, “Are you upset?”

Korra shook her head. “Of course not. How could I be upset? I know that wasn’t an easy decision—no, probably one of the hardest decisions you’ve ever had to make—and you wouldn’t have done it unless you really had to. It’s just…a lot to take in,” she finished almost inaudibly.

She left it at that; her voice was caught in her throat, and she had a feeling that the more she talked about it, the less ‘fine’ it would be.

“Korra, I’m so sorry—”

“Asami, you _saved my life_ ,” Korra cut her off, frowning. She looked at Asami meaningfully. “ _Again._ ”

Asami blushed. “That’s exaggerating—”

Korra sighed in exasperation, and Asami fell silent.

“Why do you always downplay the good things you do?” Korra demanded. She was cross—beyond cross. “They’re not even just good—they’re ridiculously selfless or bloody amazing or—or both. You only focus on the bad things you’ve done—you always beat yourself up…” she trailed off, too irate to speak without raising her voice.

Asami already looked terrified enough as is.

Wringing her hands, she objected, “If I was good at elemental magic, this would’ve never happened—”

Korra’s anger flared again.

“No, this happened because _I_ lead us there. This happened because _I_ started researching the stone. This happened because _I’m_ the Chosen One,” she snapped, aggravated. 

“Korra, it’s not—"

“My fault? Fine, I’ll take you up on that. But in that case, it’s not your fault, either.”

Asami was speechless. She seemed unable to process this outcome, a foreign one, in which, the fault belonged to neither party—namely hers.

A few moments passed.

Korra finished her third glass, and then nudged Asami gently.

“What do you always tell me?”

Asami sighed.

“Nobody expects you to be perfect,” she recited begrudgingly, cheeks burning.

“Exactly. Maybe it’s time you take your own advice.”

Asami was quiet again.

First, perhaps mildly annoyed at having her own words used against her, and then resigned. Moments later, pensive, reflecting on the weight of Korra’s words.

A beat.

Then, Asami stole a glance at Korra. Rose settled on her cheeks, and she looked away, smiling coyly. “Thanks, Korra…”

The alcohol hadn’t hit Korra yet—so she couldn’t blame the way her body reacted on her drink.

She cleared her throat.

“No problem,” Korra replied, as nonchalantly as she could manage for someone whose stomach was doing acrobatics.

Thoughtful silence overtook them again.

Korra rubbed the stem of her own glass.

There was something eating away at her—that had been eating away at her—something dark and resentful, directed at herself, lurking underneath the happy façade all day. (There were many, but this one seemed the most appropriate for the current conversation.)

“You know, I can actually _do_ elemental magic, and I couldn’t even do anything,” Korra remarked quietly, bitterly. “If anything, _I’m_ the one who slowed you down.”

Asami looked stricken.

It wasn’t what Korra had said—it was the vehemence with which she’d said it.

Asami dropped her hands from the railing, turning to Korra immediately. “That’s not on you—you’re just a student, you shouldn’t know how to fight yet.”

“You do,” Korra shot back, gazing at her empty glass.

Asami sighed. “I was trained practically my entire life, Korra.”

“Yeah, but…” Korra gritted her teeth. She’d been trying not to let it show, but now that Asami knew, her disappointment seemed magnified—seemed worse than even she had known it to be. “I should at least be able to hold my own in a fight...”

Asami bit her lip, brushed Korra’s forearm gingerly.

“Hey, you lasted longer than Mako and Bolin,” she pointed out.

Korra rolled her eyes.

“ _Anyone_ would’ve lasted longer than Mako and Bolin.”

They both laughed at this.

Despite herself, Korra felt slightly better. Asami’s words did have some truth to them; she hadn’t ever been properly trained in combat, and she could at least fare better than her peers (two of whom were exceptional wizards themselves—save for their blunder in the Room of Requirement).

Evidently relieved by Korra’s positive reaction, Asami relaxed, and gave Korra’s forearm an encouraging squeeze. “Korra, you’re a really gifted witch—you just need training.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, for Korra felt bolder than usual.

“Maybe you could be my instructor?” she suggested playfully.

To Korra’s surprise, where there would be diffidence before, there was only brazen confidence now.

Asami gazed back at her with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I’d rather be your partner,” she murmured silkily.

The implication wasn’t lost on Korra, but more staggering than that, nothing could have prepared her to be winked at by Asami Sato.

Korra coughed loudly and hurried to refill her glass in the hope that Asami hadn’t seen the very intense blush rapidly making its way across her face.

 _Girls do that all the time—they act flirty with their best friends. It’s normal. I’ve read about it. It’s normal. And Jinora said it’s normal,_ Korra calmed herself, calmly, for she was very calm about this entire affair. Then, she paused. _Am I Asami’s best friend?_

Korra glanced back at Asami who was chortling to herself. Even if the heiress was close with Bolin, Korra had a growing suspicion that she only reserved this side of herself for Korra (not to mention, only Korra knew who she really was). The thought left Korra feeling warm, and she turned back to Asami emboldened.

Asami grinned at Korra when she returned to her side.

Korra smiled back, still slightly embarrassed.

Then, she sobered, and touched Asami’s shoulder delicately.

“Are you doing okay, by the way?”

She didn’t have to explain—the situation spoke for itself. Asami, who was celebrating Christmas with a bunch of strangers, away from her mother, who had perished far too soon, and her father, who resented her from some remote, unknown location. Asami, who was utterly, completely alone on a holiday that celebrated family, after one of the hardest months of her life.

 _I’m not the only one who’s had it rough lately,_ Korra reminded herself.

Asami’s smile vanished.

She was quiet for a moment before turning to Korra with a wistful expression.

“There’s no fooling you, is there?”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “We don’t have to talk about it, just…I’m here, if you want to.”

Asami pursed her lips before turning away.

She took another long drink from her glass.

Just when Korra was about to abandon the subject entirely, Asami spoke.

“I am very grateful for everything they’ve done for me,” she murmured, tilting her head at the house.

Inside, the atmosphere was still quite indolent, and nobody seemed to have budged from their positions.

“And, this,” Asami chuckled, pulling at the fabric of her Christmas sweater. “It does make me feel very welcome. I didn’t think I’d get any gifts at all this year, and somehow, I’ve gotten more gifts than I have in my entire life.” A pause. “And an oddly expensive gift from my Charms professor.”

Korra decided against telling Asami, again. (Part of her still wondered if there was another reason, as Tenzin was rarely one to go out of his way when it came to material gestures.)

“But?” Korra pressed.

She knew Asami too well to not expect a ‘but.’

Asami smiled guiltily. “But,” she agreed, “this is the first Christmas I’ve ever spent away from my father.”

Korra’s grip tightened on her glass at the mention of Hiroshi. But, she contained herself.

She had to.

“Do you miss him?” Korra asked carefully, desperately hoping the answer was ‘no.’

Asami paused. Deliberated.

Then, she chuckled.

“Funnily enough, I miss my mother, more than anything.”

Korra’s heart lurched.

She’d seen Yasuko for only a few moments, but everything Asami had said about her—no, she hadn’t said that much, but the _way_ Asami spoke about her—suddenly made sense. If Hiroshi was an emblem of hate, then Yasuko was the epitome of love.

“We used to have these quiet little Christmases at the manor—the old one. A tiny little tree Mother would enchant to dance, and we’d sit around it after Father would come home from work. He always had work—Sato Industries was still working its way up back then. I would get two gifts—one from Mother, one from Father. Father always gave me something practical, something material…” Asami trailed off, frowning.

Korra waited, but she didn’t continue.

“And your mother?” she inquired curiously.

Asami blinked, seemingly just returning to the moment.

“My mother would always make me something…but—” there was something telling in Asami’s gaze that made Korra wish she hadn’t asked at all “—I don’t have any of them now…”

Korra’s heart sank.

 _It must’ve been lost in the fire…_ Then, with a jolt, she realized, All _of it?_

She couldn’t possibly know—or even fathom—what it was like to have lost every last memento of a deceased parent.

“I remember the stories she used to tell me, though. On Christmas, she’d come to my room and tell me bedtime stories—she was gone for work a lot, so she didn’t always have the opportunity. But she’d be there on Christmas without a doubt. Sometimes she’d tell me about the awful things she used to get up to at school,” Asami chortled.

“Like?” Korra asked gently.

Asami smiled. “Like using Amortentia on the Head Boy to get out of detention.”

Both girls laughed.

Then, the breeze withered, and the joviality of the moment died with it.

Asami sighed.

 _“_ She’d be so disappointed in us—no, _horrified_ —if she were here,” she continued, thumbing the stem of her glass. “Especially at my father…”

Her grip on the glass grew dangerously tight, and Korra was afraid it would shatter in her hands. Then, Asami’s hand went limp, and she sighed.

“Sometimes I wish my mother and father were just normal muggles. Not muggle-borns—muggles. I wish I’d never known about magic. I wish I’d just lived a normal life—” Asami’s voice cracked, she covered her mouth to keep from crying “—then…” a pause, a sob “…then, maybe she’d still be here. Maybe things wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

This time, Korra was quiet.

There was nothing she could say to that.

What could she have said? ‘Oh no, don’t say that—it’s dreadful that your mother was brutally murdered and your father turned into an abusive terrorist, but I’m glad I met you!’

Asami stole a glance at Korra, who’d been silent for several moments now. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“We just talked about this,” Korra reminded her.

Asami paused again. Her eyes softened.

“I mean, thank you for listening.”

Korra smiled in approval. Then, she lowered her eyes.

“Anyway, you don’t have any reason to be sorry. I’m not bothered or anything, I just…don’t know what to say. It’s not really my place, y’know?” Asami nodded in understanding. Korra rubbed her shoulder awkwardly, and then glanced at Asami again. “Is it…too much to say that I’m glad I got to meet you?” she chanced.

In effect: ‘Since things turned out the way they did, at least I got to meet you.’

Asami blinked.

_Ugh, why did you say that you thick git—_

Then, to Korra’s disbelief, the smallest of smiles appeared on the heiress’s face.

“Me too,” Asami replied softly.

Korra’s heart accelerated.

She coughed—that didn’t help—rubbed her shoulder again, turned away.

When she stole a glance at Asami, she was relieved to find that the heiress was beaming at her.

Korra cleared her throat.

“Err…I hope I’m not overstepping by saying this but…I’ve been away from my parents for a while, too—err, not that it compares to your situation—” _please stop talking_ “—but I’ve spent every Christmas since I was eleven away from them—err, I guess every Christmas I’ve ever spent, since we don’t celebrate that in the South—” _any day now, lightning will strike you and you will die_ “—and Pema and Tenzin have always made me feel right at home. So, err…I hope you feel even a little bit of that, too?” Korra concluded lamely, very red in the face.

Fortunately for Korra, Asami was used to her.

She listened patiently, just the slightest hint of ridicule on her lips, before deliberating. She only took a moment to think before turning back to Korra.

“Actually, this is the best Christmas I’ve had since I was six.” She looked down at Korra with glittering green eyes that made her dizzy. “Thank you, Korra,” Asami whispered.

Korra didn’t know it was possible, but she felt even more blood rush to her face.

“I-I-I mean I c-can’t single-handedly take credit for t-that,” she managed to splutter out.

For whatever reason, this was amusing to Asami, who turned away. She simpered to herself.

Korra wondered if it was because she was so flustered, for she lost control for just a second—

 **If only you knew,** thought Asami.

Korra looked away quickly.

_Think about something else, think about something else—_

“Asami?”

Asami turned to Korra, still smiling.

Korra fiddled with her glass self-consciously. Stole a glance at Asami and then looked away hastily.

“Err…d’you…d’you think if things were different, we would’ve still been friends?”

There was a lot more behind the inquiry.

If you weren’t an Equalist, would we have become friends? If you hadn’t bumped into Mako on the train, would we have become friends? If you really had been a muggle and we never met at Hogwarts, would we have become friends?

Asami looked stunned by the depth of the question.

Then, she smiled coyly and lowered her eyes.

“I wondered that too, when we first met. A lot. Especially when I was starting to doubt myself. I wondered what I’d done right to have met someone as good as you—” Korra turned red again; the alcohol was not helping “—I wondered what I’d have to do in order to meet you again, under different circumstances. I wondered if we would’ve been friends.”

Korra bit her lip. “And?”

Asami’s smile widened, and she turned to meet Korra’s gaze.

“I think so,” Asami breathed. Her eyes were warm.

Korra’s heart skipped a beat.

“I-I think so, too,” she replied. She looked down again and then met Asami’s gaze bashfully. “I think that things that are meant to be will be.”

Asami was looking at Korra oddly again—like she were seeing a new person.

Then, she chuckled. “Me too.”

Asami reached out and took Korra’s hand, and Korra intertwined their fingers.

Silence enveloped them for several moments—moments that both consoled Korra and terrified her to no end.

Now was the absolute worst time for the alcohol to kick in, but it was starting to—slowly, gradually seeping into her veins and numbing her judgment. Her filter. Everything she’d been trying so hard to keep buried was rising to the surface, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

_Don’t say anything stupid, don’t say anything stupid, don’t say anything stupid—_

“Korra, are you all right?”

Korra jumped and then glanced at Asami in alarm.

To her relief, the heiress didn’t look like she’d caught on. Rather, she looked concerned.

“You seem like you’re forcing yourself to go along with everything. Like you’re forcing yourself to be happy, forcing yourself to seem okay, because you’re scared they’ll ask if you let it show, and you don’t think you can handle acknowledging it.” Asami paused. “Am I wrong?”

 _No, you’re too right, and it’s kind of scary,_ thought Korra. _I hope…I really hope that’s the only thing you’ve figured out…_

But she’d always known that Asami knew her best.

“No, you’re not wrong,” Korra sighed.

“Oh.” Silence. “Err, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” Asami added hastily.

Korra gave Asami’s hand a light squeeze and then released it. She drank heavily, hoping it would expedite the intoxication process. Suddenly, the alcohol wasn’t hitting her fast enough.

(It was. But Korra wanted to black out and forget that any of this had ever happened.)

She finished her fourth (or was it her fifth?) glass and then set it down completely.

Korra turned to Asami, smiled wearily.

“My parents asked me to come home.”

 Asami looked crestfallen. She hastily amended her expression to a neutral one, but the damage had been done. Korra’s stomach churned.

“You can come with me,” she offered weakly.

Asami stared.

 _Was that too forward?_ Korra wondered. Her head was starting to feel very heavy again—only, in a way that made it difficult for her to keep her eyes open.

Then, Asami lowered her gaze.

“So, you’re going?”

Korra balked.

“No, I—”

She paused to consider it. That’s what she’d implied, hadn’t she?

_Maybe that’s what I actually want…_

“I’m thinking about it,” Korra admitted finally. She sighed again. “I’m sorry…”

Asami shook her head. “No—don’t be sorry. Please.” She breathed out, composed herself. Gently, she reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Korra’s face, like she had this morning. “You’ve been through so much this year…it makes sense. It’s fair. And,” she raised her eyes to meet Korra’s, pressed her hand against Korra’s cheek gingerly, “if you think that’s what right for you, do it.”

Korra found herself wanting to hold Asami’s hand there, against her face. Wanted to close her eyes and stay right here, in this moment, crystallized.

She didn’t want to return to Hogwarts. She didn’t want to return home.

She didn’t want to be Korra anymore.

“I’m scared,” Korra confessed in a whisper. Asami began to lower her hand—perhaps to offer wisdom or some other comfort—but Korra seized it and returned it to where it had been. Asami’s eyes widened in alarm. “Please, just…just another minute.”

 _You’re really drunk, aren’t you?_ Korra thought to herself.

Asami’s gaze softened. She allowed Korra to hold her hand to her cheek, gazed at Korra sympathetically. Tenderly, with more warmth than Korra could handle.

More than she felt she deserved.

Korra closed her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to see Asami’s face when she spoke.

(She didn’t think she could think clearly if she did.)

“I’m worried,” Korra continued in a low voice. “I’m worried things are building up to something I’m not ready for. Something I can’t handle. I….” Everything Korra wanted to say in Tenzin’s study but couldn’t was coming out now. “I’m the Chosen One, but…I don’t know if I can do this.”

Asami didn’t interrupt.

Korra was grateful she couldn’t see Asami’s face, the intoxication was starting to get stronger, and she was worried, amidst this sentimentality, she might do something she’d regret.

“The stone. Christmas. I know you said it’s not my fault. I know you said it’s because I haven’t been trained. But I feel like it’s my fault. I’m the Chosen One, master of all four elements. So, why can’t I fight? Why did we lose?”

“Korra—”

“I had visions,” Korra steamrolled on angrily. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes—she screwed them shut even tighter, hoping that would quell the flow. “I saw everything Amon was going to do before he did it. And I still couldn’t do anything. Those aurors—those students—all those _children_!”

The stinging was impossible to ignore now—

“I don’t know what’s going to happen if we go back. I don’t know that me—having me—even makes a different.” Korra shook her head. “Maybe it’s better if I leave. At least then they—Tarrlok, Amon—can’t use the stone.”

“They’ll find you, one way or another,” Asami reminded her. “If they can get into Hogwarts, I don’t think there’s anywhere in the world they won’t be able to.”

Korra’s jaw clenched.

“That’s even worse! So, I’m just running away like a coward? I thought leaving would help! Everything I do is just _wrong_ —there’s no winning. THERE’S NO POINT TO ANY OF THIS!” Korra roared, eyes shooting open at last.

Asami recoiled, dropping her hand immediately.

“I’m such a fucking coward—I’m scared, I’m always scared. I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t even know what I’m _supposed_ to be doing—I can’t do anything right—I—I…”

Korra clutched at her center, succumbing to tears at last. There was a horrible, stabbing agony that shot through her chest—seized her core and then flooded her entire system. Self-pity? Self-loathing?

It must’ve been the latter, for Korra wouldn’t have minded—or even brought herself to care if Amon materialized and stole her magic that very moment.

 _I hate myself,_ thought Korra furiously. _I hate myself, I hate ever being born…_

Perhaps she’d deserved all the horrid things that’d happened to her. For being weak. For being incompetent.

_What kind of Chosen One am I?_

“You were right,” Korra spat when her voice had steadied. “They chose wrong. I’m no Chosen One.”

At this, Asami’s face darkened.

She turned on Korra with the wrath of a storm, eyes ablaze. There was such an intensity to her gaze—no, her glare—that Korra flinched.

“ _Tarrlok_ said that,” Asami retorted fiercely. “To get you to join some stupid little parade long enough that he could steal the stone. Literally nobody else thinks that.”

“How do you know—?”

“Because I’ve seen the way people look at you,” Asami cut Korra off, stepping closer. “I’ve heard the way people talk about you. You inspire people. _You’re_ the reason we’re here today, Korra. _You’re_ the reason I left the Equalists. _You’re_ the reason I’m not afraid of Amon—or my father—anymore. You’re the reason we want to fight—the reason we think we even have a chance against Amon.” Asami was so close to her now that Korra could feel the heiress’s breath on her lips, the tip of her nose against her own. “You give us hope, Korra. No, you _are_ our hope.”

Korra snorted.

“Then maybe you should give u—”

Asami took Korra’s face between her hands, and Korra forgot how to speak.

“Are you listening?” Asami demanded.

Korra nodded mutely, unable to look at the heiress.

“I’m not giving up on you. You’ve never given me a reason to.”

Korra opened her mouth to protest—

“No. Shut up. The old you wouldn’t have even been able to admit that you were afraid. The old you ran away from the things she was afraid of—Amon, me, admitting your feelings—”

 _There’s something else you don’t know_ , Korra thought drunkenly. _I’m still avoiding_ —

“—the old you was so afraid of conflict, of getting hurt. You hid, you lied, you avoided everyone— _everything._ The old you joined the task force because of something Tarrlok said. Because Tarrlok egged you on. And you didn’t quit because you didn’t want to admit that you made a mistake.”

Korra glanced at Asami to see if she was done.

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?” Korra asked morosely.

There was very little room between them—but what little gap there was, Asami closed it. She stepped forward again, so that their foreheads were now pressed together. Korra’s breath caught in her throat when Asami’s body pressed against hers; if she was trying to get Korra to focus, she was failing miserably—

“My point is, you’re different now. The old you never would’ve been able to admit that you were afraid, that you were lost, that things were your fault. The fact that you can—”

“Makes me a coward?”

“—proves how strong you are.”

Korra stared.

Asami gazed back at her intensely, breathlessly.

“It takes incredible strength to admit our own vulnerability—and to be able to do so after running from it for so long just shows how remarkably strong you are.” Asami’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “ _You_ taught me that.”

Korra lowered her eyes. “But I’ve lost almost every fight I’ve been in. I’m…weak.”

“No, you’re resilient. The first time we fought, you hid away for a week, because you were scared. The second time we fought, even though you were isolated, even though you were afraid—even though _I gave you the chance to run_ —you stayed. You fought, because you didn’t want to go back on your word. You wanted to protect the people of Hogsmeade, you wanted to make a difference.

“Korra…” Asami sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up for what happened with the orphanage.”

Korra averted her gaze.

Asami stroked her cheekbones gently, forcing Korra to look at her, eyes wide.

“If anything, that’s what changed you—and that speaks volumes of who you are as a person—the type of Chosen One you’ll be. You took responsibility for something that wasn’t even your fault, and you used it to better yourself, to harden your resolve.

“When the troll broke into the castle, you didn’t think twice about going after it. When you found out Tarrlok was going for the stone, you charged right after him without thinking. The old you was afraid—now, you charge into dangerous situations without sparing a second thought about your own safety.”

Korra’s eyes were stinging again.

“But I’m still afraid,” she pointed out. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s not about not being afraid, Korra. It’s how you respond to it,” Asami countered. “If you’re at least thinking about this before charging in, you’re not a coward—you’re _wise_. You’re being rational about how to approach this conflict instead of running away mindlessly.”

_I can’t tell if she’s right or just really good at spinning things positively…_

But Korra knew Asami, who hated herself more than anything, and knew it had to be former.

Korra remained silent for a long time before she spoke again.

“All this time, I hated myself for not being the Chosen One you deserve,” she muttered, in a barely audible voice.

_“You were wrong, Mother.”_

Korra had been refusing to look at Asami while the heiress spoke. When she gazed at her now (stole a glance), Asami looked dumbfounded. She blinked rapidly, and then lowered her eyes. She seemed to be steeling herself.

“That’s why I joined the task force,” Korra mumbled miserably. “That’s why I…I wanted to find out the truth. About myself, about the stone. I wanted to prove you—err, Tarrlok, I suppose—and your father wrong. But now I’m scared they’re right…”

When Asami met Korra’s gaze again, her eyes were soft, free of reproach—or anything that could possibly make Korra feel unworthy.

The heiress lowered one hand, so that she was caressing Korra’s face with the other, and began softly, “Korra, you didn’t even _know_ you were the Chosen One. Ever since you found out, all you’ve been doing is trying to prove yourself, trying to make things right—things that weren’t even your fault in the first place.” She paused here, gazed meaningfully at Korra. “Becoming the Chosen One changed you, and the fact that you rose to the challenge—alone, with no guidance, at age sixteen, no matter how many times you got hurt, no matter how many people tried to stop you or—or kill you—proves that you’re more than worthy of being the Chosen One.”

Korra was stunned.

Breathless.

Not only did Asami think Korra was an apt Chosen One—she thought Korra was _more than worthy._

Something stirred inside Korra, something determined, unyielding. (She was vaguely reminded of the sensation this morning, when Asami had entered the room.)

Then, the heiress took a deep breath; this time, she looked remorseful.

“Korra, I’m…really sorry for shutting you down about the stone a few weeks ago. For telling you that we shouldn’t have gone after it.” Korra raised an eyebrow. “Well, even though we _shouldn’t_ have—your intuition that it wasn’t safe was right. Your intuition about Tarrlok—about the troll being his doing, too—all right.” Asami tilted her head and smiled at Korra apologetically. “What I’m trying to say is, even if you’re still a little rough around the edges…I trust your instincts Korra. Regardless of what happens when—err, I mean if—we go back, I’ll always stand by you. No matter what.” 

This gave Korra pause.

At last, Asami’s words had made an impact on her—a critical one.

_“No matter what happens next, you have my full, unconditional support. I trust you, Korra.”_

If there were two people in her life that Korra respected most, two people who were sensible and wise, impartial in their judgment—it would be Tenzin and Asami.

And somehow, _both_ had expressed their unwavering faith in Korra in the span of one day.

For a moment, Korra truly felt like the Chosen One.

Korra paused, as well, to reflect on the implications of what Asami had said—all that she’d said.

She _was_ different, Korra realized.

She’d been so focused on everyone else all this time. Bolin, who’d grown more mature, more valiant. Mako, who’d become more open, more loving—who’d learned that there wouldn’t always be another opportunity to say the things one was too self-conscious to say otherwise. Asami, who’d made the greatest transformation of all by choosing justice—over everything she’d known since childhood.

But Korra had changed, too.

The old Korra was impulsive, selfish, hotheaded.

Cowardly.

Now—well, now, she was still afraid. (And, perhaps, most of the above.)

However, it wasn’t the absence of fear so much as what Asami had said: Korra knew how to deal with it, now. Korra couldn’t afford to avoid facing her fears anymore—not when there was so much at stake. Korra didn’t want to rush into things without considering how her actions would affect those around her. Korra didn’t shy away from expressing herself anymore—didn’t run—even if she was afraid.

Korra thought of all that she’d been through. Broken fingers. Shattered ribs. Cursed leg. Being attacked by a terrorist—multiple times. Nearly being poisoned. Being betrayed by—by her _best friend_. Nearly being assassinated in front of the whole school. Being ambushed by an _army_ of terrorists. Finally, being attacked by a dark wizard—being poisoned by a Basilisk—and, worst of all, losing an entire limb.

How terrified would she have been at the prospect of even one of those things occuring before this school year started?

Certainly, the damage from these incidents still lingered.

But Korra had overcome them. _Alone_. Time and time again.

 _She_ had done that. _She_ was strong enough to.

Getting hurt didn’t seem so scary anymore.

And Korra—Korra, more desperately than anything— _wanted_ to be the Chosen One.

If anything, she only feared not being good enough.

Korra thought of what Lin had said to her (now, an eternity ago).

 _“Being an auror isn’t just about_ fighting _, Korra…Your job is to serve the people, and service doesn’t always entail combat.”_

Korra finally understood, now, what she’d meant.

She didn’t have to know how to fight, yet.

Because even so, she’d still made a difference.

Korra _was_ different now.

She didn’t know what had changed.

Then, Korra looked at Asami, and her whole world was different.

It wasn’t quite that she changed for Asami. No, there was much more than that.

There were children, lost, muggle-borns, hurt, purebloods and some half-bloods, irreparably damaged. There were her friends, her family—everyone precious to her.

It wasn’t that Korra had changed for Asami. It was that Asami—Asami’s incredible tenacity and dedication to justice—her own decision to change—had espoused the very same desire to change in Korra.

Asami made Korra want to be the best version of herself, and she had failed to realize that until–

 _Now. I have something to protect, now,_ thought Korra, gazing at Asami.

Asami, pretty Asami, with her red lips and green eyes—her dazzling smile, brighter than day.

“Thanks, Asami. I…” Korra exhaled deeply through her nose and nodded—mostly to herself— “I’m staying,” she declared resolutely. “This is where I want to be.”

Asami smiled at Korra with the brilliance of the sun.

“What do I always tell you?” the heiress echoed, eyes twinkling.

Korra beamed.

“Nobody expects me to be perfect,” she repeated back to her. 

Read: ‘It’s okay to be afraid.’

But this time, Korra believed it.

Asami rubbed Korra’s cheekbone gently with the pad of her thumb before lowering her hand.

It was ten to twelve now.

Inside, everyone was lively (and awake), but they were so busy counting down that they paid no mind to Korra and Asami. (Tenzin had been roped in as well, and was currently getting an earful from Pema.) However, the commotion seemed to rouse Asami—or at least, remind her of something.

“Korra—I never gave you your gift.” Her eyes were shining with urgency—and something that seemed a little like…anxiety? Was she nervous to give Korra her gift?

 _The feeling is mutual,_ thought Korra, who suddenly remembered the weight in her pocket.

“Err, if it’s all right, can I give it to you now?” Asami continued, wringing her hands together. “I wanted to give it to you before the day was over…”

Korra nodded. “Yeah, of course. You didn’t even have to get me anything.”

At this, Asami relaxed a little, shooting Korra an amused look. “You seemed a bit upset when you thought Mako forgot to buy you something.”

Korra balked. “Hey, that’s different—I’ll kick that bloke in the face if he forgets to get me a Christmas gift after five years.”

Asami laughed. “An appropriate solution.”

Korra grinned.

Then, Asami sobered—abruptly nervous again.

 _What did she get me that she has to be nervous for?_ Korra wondered.

“S-so,” Asami began shakily, “I-I heard people in your tribe give the people they—” a long pause “—c-care about necklaces.”

 _Err, yeah…the people they’re going to_ marry _,_ thought Korra. But she didn’t want to hurt Asami’s feelings, so—

“Yeah, that’s right,” she replied, eyeing the beautifully wrapped parcel Asami had produced from her pocket.

_I really hope she didn’t accidentally make me a betrothal necklace._

Asami’s hands were trembling as she passed the parcel to Korra; Korra made it a point to squeeze Asami’s hands reassuringly when she received it. Asami flashed a small, grateful smile at her.

“I-I’ve never made jewelry before, so it might not be—”

“You _made_ this?” Korra gasped.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a betrothal necklace.

On the other hand, it was perhaps one of the most ornate and elegantly crafted pieces of Southern Wizarding Tribe jewelry Korra had ever seen—and it hadn’t even been made by someone from the tribe.

The cord was made from the gut of an orca—how Asami had learned about that was beyond Korra (she was even more moved)—delicate patterns of ivory and silver along its length. Every few centimeters lay beautiful, handpicked shells (Korra could tell they were handpicked—they were all of different shapes, unlike the uniform ones from the cheap, mass-manufactured jewelry sold by outsiders), culminating at a broach carved of caribou bone in the shape of a polar bear dog tooth.

Asami’s eyes widened. Clearly, she had misunderstood Korra’s reaction.

“I-I—"

“It’s beautiful,” Korra breathed.

Asami stopped talking—her mouth hung open in disbelief. She gaped at Korra incredulously. When she realized that Korra was genuinely impressed, she rubbed her shoulder self-consciously; the heiress looked like she was about to collapse in relief.

“I’m glad you like it,” Asami mumbled, the slightest hint of scarlet on her cheeks.

Korra held it out to Asami, who glanced at it and then back at Korra bemusedly.

“Help me put it on,” Korra clarified.

“Oh, r-right.”

Korra laughed at the flustered look on Asami’s face before turning around and moving her hair aside.

Asami’s touch was feather-light, just grazing Korra’s skin; it was still enough to send a pulse through Korra, who was grateful she wasn’t facing Asami so the heiress wouldn’t see the furious blush spreading across her face. Asami delicately placed it over Korra’s collarbone, adjusting it slightly before murmuring, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Korra squeaked.

_Smooth._

Asami didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to for Korra to know that she was smirking.

As Asami placed the necklace on Korra, there was a surge of warmth—it came from somewhere beyond Korra, and she’d never felt a sensation like it before. She felt calm, serene, entirely at peace; she felt…safe.

 _Is it enchanted?_ Korra wondered.

She waited until Asami had closed the clasp to turn back. The heiress was pointedly avoiding her gaze.

Korra beamed at her. “Thank you, Asami. I love it.”

Asami stole a glance at Korra, turned beet-red, then looked away quickly and muttered something unintelligible that could’ve been “You’re welcome” or “Why do I exist?”

The countdown was getting close now—five minutes left. (At least, that’s what Korra thought; she’d never been good at math and the count was now somewhere in the three-hundreds.)

Then, the alcohol hit Korra very suddenly all at once, and she wished she’d paced herself better. Still, the lull in thought was more than welcome, for she needed a great deal of valor for what she was about to do.

“Err, I-I still have your gift t-too, Asami,” Korra mumbled, developing a blush of her own.

Her words were beginning to slur together.

Asami’s eyes lit up with anticipation. She tried to mask it with a nonchalant, “Oh?”

But there was no hiding the twitch in her lips—a feeble attempt at suppressing a disobedient smile.

Korra abruptly understood Asami’s earlier apprehension.

She was nervous—beyond nervous.

Korra had been slaving over this for months, and unlike Asami, she couldn’t just produce flawless jewelry on her first try. Even the packaging was sloppy, and Korra was mortified as she produced a poorly wrapped parcel from her own pocket.

Asami was doing her best to hide her curiosity—and failing miserably.

“What is it?” she inquired, accepting the parcel.

Korra waved her hands dismissively, gestured for Asami to open it.

_I don’t want you to be disappointed…_

Clearly, it wasn’t what Asami had been expecting.

Her eyes darted between it and Korra before her lips twitched upwards in amusement.

“Friendship bracelets?” Asami teased.

Korra blanched.

“No, well, I mean yes—”

Asami giggled. “They’re cute.”

Korra deflated. “Oh…”

Noticing Korra’s dismay, Asami quickly sobered.

“Korra, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right,” Korra cut her off, very embarrassed—and a little frustrated at herself. “It’s lame, I know…”

_I should’ve just gotten her a normal gift…_

She was mortified—irreconcilably humiliated. She’d spent so much time and effort making the bracelets, procuring supplies from the Southern Wizarding Tribe, neglecting her responsibilities—

Asami looked stricken. “Korra, that’s not what I meant at all.”

Korra glanced at her forlornly.

Asami stepped closer and held out the bracelets. “They’re beautiful. I just…didn’t expect this type of thing from you. That’s it.”

Korra paused. Considered.

“Because I’m so awkward?”

Asami nodded in relief, grateful that Korra understood. “I just didn’t expect you to get me something that is literally purely an expression of affection.”

Korra blushed. “Err—they’re not—I mean, well, they are…”

Asami arced an eyebrow, amused. “Do you want to attempt to explain what they are?”

_Not really._

But Korra nodded and held her hands out.

“To be honest, I got the inspiration from the Northern Wizarding Tribe for the charms, but it’s a tradition we have in both tribes. When the men of our tribe go to war, it’s something best—” Korra was suddenly very self-conscious “—b-best friends make for each other.” Asami looked shocked—and then dazed. There was a little smile on her face. “It actually goes a bit beyond that. Every warrior has a partner they go to battle with—they’re assigned when they join the tribal army, and it’s supposed to be for life. You’re sworn to protect and stand by each other until one of you dies—and when that happens, you never bond with another.”

In effect: ‘Symbols of a bond for life.’

 _Somehow, this is a lot worse than a betrothal necklace,_ Korra realized.

She coughed abruptly and continued, “Y-you pick the charms yourself—usually, they’re supposed to be significant to your specific relationship. Err, these—like I mentioned earlier—” _please just keel over and die_ “—are inspired by the guardians of the Northern Wizarding Tribe: Tui and La.

“Tui—” Korra touched the bracelet on the left “—is the moon spirit. It provides strength to water mages and represents the spiritual aspect of elemental magic. In Eastern cultures, it’s depicted as Yang, thought to represent heaven, day, openness. La—” Korra touched the bracelet on the right “—is the ocean spirit. It’s the manifestation of water-based magic in the material world and represents the physical aspect of elemental magic. It’s depicted as Yin—representing earth, night, covertness.”

Unlike Asami, Korra had opted to use tiger-seal leather for the cord. However, they’d both chosen ivory and silver for the decoration, Korra noted. The cord wrapped around three times, ending in two splints sealed by beads; this acted as an adjusting mechanism, which had taken Korra ages to get right (she still had blisters on her fingers). Beside the mechanism lay the charms, just slightly bigger than Korra’s thumbnail, both carved from caribou bone. Tui, Korra had bleached, was a white koi fish with a black spot on its head; La, Korra had dyed in tiger shark blood, was an ebony koi fish with a white spot in the same place. Korra’s creation was much sloppier than Asami’s, not nearly as flexible or smooth, saturated with the obvious markings of an amateur.

However, for whatever reason, Asami seemed to like them. In fact, she was utterly enamored with them, turning each over to inspect fondly as Korra spoke.

“Err, so…we’re not men or warriors, but, I just…I don’t know. I wanted to make these for us,” Korra concluded unimpressively, gesturing to the bracelets sitting in Asami’s upturned palm. “Because you make me feel balanced or something.”

_Oh my god you didn’t have to say that part—_

But Asami looked stunned.

Then, touched.

She blinked several times, seemingly unsure of how to respond to something so culturally significant. The heiress turned her face away abruptly, and Korra could’ve sworn she saw the hint of tears in her eyes.

“Thank you, Korra,” Asami murmured finally. “I’m sorry for misunderstanding. That’s…this is the best thing anyone’s ever given me.”

Korra stared. “You’re joking, right?”

Asami shook her head.

“But you’re rich,” Korra blurted before she could think.

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Then, Asami laughed, and Korra scowled.

“I know what you mean,” Asami chuckled, thumbing the bracelets affectionately. “I _have_ received many wonderful materialistic gifts. But nothing this…meaningful. Thank you, Korra,” she repeated, with unmistakable sincerely. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

 _Forever sounds wonderful,_ thought Korra, drunkenly, unconsciously.

Then—

“Am I the last to join the pack?” Asami asked with a grin.

Korra blinked. “What?”

“I mean, the others have these, too, right?”

Korra paled.

_Oh god, if I tell her, will she—_

Asami’s expression was already starting to shift, she was figuring it out herself—

_Say something, quickly—_

“No—I’ve never made these before,” Korra admitted, slurring over her words in her haste. A pause. “Err, never thought to, I guess.”

In effect: ‘You’re the first one I’ve wanted to make these for. The _only_ one.’

The message wasn’t lost on Asami.

The heiress looked starstruck. She blinked, and then her eyes started shimmering again—she blinked again, more rapidly this time, and looked away quickly.

“O-oh,” she squeaked, voice cracking.

Korra wasn’t entirely sure how Asami had interpreted that. Perhaps there was only one way to, and she was being too drunk, too hopeful to think otherwise.

_I’m not…I’m not ready to do this…I…_

“Err, so, w-which one do you want?” Korra inquired without making eye contact.

Anything to distract herself.

Asami blinked.

“I get to pick?”

Korra nodded. “It is _your_ gift.”

Asami gazed down at the bracelets.

She studied them for a long time before, finally—

“La,” Asami declared.

Korra’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait—what?”

Asami recoiled. “Is that the wrong answer?”

“N-no, there isn’t a wrong answer, just—” _you’re my sun._

Then, it hit Korra, and she stared at Asami.

 _Maybe that’s what she thinks about…me?_ Korra shook her head. _Ugh, no—stop._

Asami smiled bashfully. “Then I want La.”

Korra nodded, still dazed.

“Oh—err, r-right,” she stammered when Asami gazed at her expectantly. “I’ll take Tui, t-then.”

A pause.

Both girls were suddenly too timid to look at each other.

“We have to—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence.

“Do you—”

“Do you—”

They stared at each other.

Then, they giggled, intoxicated, embarrassed.

“At the same time?” Korra suggested, and Asami nodded fervently.

She held out her hand—at the same time Asami held out hers.

Even if Korra had made the bracelets in good spirit, more as a lighthearted gesture of friendship than anything, the exchange suddenly felt very intimate, very…

Romantic?

They each tied the other’s bracelet, then glanced up at each other, froze…

Behind them went up the roar of “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Then, Asami’s gaze trailed up, to something behind Korra. Whatever she saw must’ve been amusing, for she lowered her gaze, looked away with a coy smile on her face. With her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, rose, midnight against porcelain, Asami was dizzyingly beautiful, and Korra couldn’t breathe.

 _She’s so pretty,_ thought Korra drunkenly. _She’s so pretty I could—_

“It’s getting late. Why don’t you go in and get some rest?” Asami said at last.

Korra frowned. “What about you?”

She hoped that was what she’d said—her tongue felt very heavy.

Asami smiled and shook her head. “I think I’m going to stay out here for a bit. I need some air.”

Korra hesitated, partially out of courtesy and partially because she couldn’t feel her legs.

“Go on,” Asami urged, glancing at Korra out of the corner of her eye. Her voice sounded odd, and she wouldn’t look at Korra when she added, “I might do something stupid if you stay.”

The threat wasn’t very convincing, especially because now Korra wanted to know what Asami might do, but colors were starting to blur together, her mind was slipping—or was it reality that was slipping—and Korra could hardly tell where her hands were anymore.

“Okay,” she conceded drowsily. “Good night, Asami.”

“Good night, Korra.”

When Korra glanced over her shoulder, Asami was no longer facing her, leaning over the railing on her elbows again. Raven locks billowing out behind her, her silhouette glowing against the night sky—Asami looked achingly, breathtakingly beautiful, and Korra wanted nothing more than to—

 _It must be the firewhisky,_ thought Korra.

Her legs gave out the moment she made contact with her bed. Sleep didn’t come as easily as she’d expected, however; part of her was still outside, on the balcony with Asami. Part of her wanted to know what Asami would’ve done. Part of her was still lingering on what _she_ wanted to do…

 _It must be the firewhisky,_ Korra thought sleepily. _It must be the firewhisky. It must be…_

It must’ve been the firewhisky, because Korra wanted to kiss Asami.

And she couldn’t want that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know all of you hate me right now but just fyi since I got a few questions about this:  
> Essence of Dittany – a healing, restorative concoction that has the power to heal wounds, burns, etc.; it helps flesh grow back at a significantly faster rate than usual.  
> Hermione used it on Ron when his arm was splinched in the Deathly Hallows (and several other times).  
> And, as Korra joked, her Chosen One magic does help with the (rapid) regrowth.


	22. Lessons with the Headmaster Pt. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not in a great condition to be writing and proofreading, but wanted to offer some sort of consolation or escape from reality during these troubled times. (Will probably re-edit later, being the perfectionist that I am.) Stay safe, sending love to everyone <3

* * *

Korra returned to school a sort of celebrity.

It was quite possibly the worst outcome.

Everywhere she went, people pointed, whispered—

“Did you hear?”

“She’s the one that stopped Tarrlok!”

“I heard she’s one of the students that fought Sato, too!”

Eventually, people would start asking.

And Korra had no answers for them.

It was strange—five years ago, a social pariah, she would’ve been ecstatic. Even a few months ago, she would’ve welcomed this.

Now, Korra want nothing to do with the attention, which would only bode unwell for her in the end.

 _Stupid,_ she thought. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

They knew little of the adversities she’d endured—of the irrevocable, irreversible trauma that would follow her to her grave—and still celebrated her ‘achievements’ all the same. They paraded around her in the halls, hi-fived her on the way to class, and smeared her sanity with the single-most horrifying experience of her life—enabled, no, forced it to resurface, no matter how desperately Korra tried to repress it, over and over again, like some kind of daily ritual—

Daily torture.

Fortunately, the reception towards Asami had also grown warmer following the news of the attempted robbery (the Slytherins remained as foul as ever). Most were shocked (and relieved) that the daughter of the most notorious Equalist conspirator to date was on the side _protecting_ the artefact. (Of course, the Slytherins still believed it was all a ruse, that the heiress was bidding her time to strike; Korra had consequently discovered a sudden, budding concern for her blood pressure). There was still considerable skepticism, considerable passive-aggression—but, save for the Slytherins, open attacks and blatant disrespect towards Asami had died down. People no longer avoided her in the hallways, and Korra often spotted the heiress sitting with Jinora and her friends at the Ravenclaw table; to her immense relief, the latter didn’t get up and walk away (as most did).

What the ‘artefact’ had been reported as in the news, Korra didn’t know, for she’d been religiously avoiding all forms of media altogether. She’d been informed by Bolin that Tarrlok’s reputation as a former politician and professor had been tarnished by the appalling betrayal of his role as a public servant; it hadn’t been particularly eminent to begin with, but the bounty posted on his wanted posters (plastered all over Hogwarts) gave Korra an idea of how seriously the infraction had been perceived (or else, painted in the media).

Of course, his former association with Hogwarts only further sullied the school’s already (rapidly) deteriorating reputation. However, most disconcerting of all—at least, in Korra’s opinion—was that unlike Hiroshi, who’d basically vanished off the face of the earth, Tarrlok been spotted in various locations all over the continent since the attack, but nobody had been able to detain him...

Consequently—as expected, perhaps—things were as dreadful as they’d ever been at Hogwarts. Following Christmas break, more than half the students never came back. There were a handful of latecomers, but for the most part, it was clear that those who hadn’t returned had no intention of doing so at all.

No parent in their right mind wanted to send their child to a school with professors who terrorized children and colluded with dark forces. How could Hogwarts possibly be the safest place on earth when it was crawling with the very foes it was designed to repel in the first place?

More troubling, even _Raiko_ hadn’t returned—had become entirely unreachable altogether—leaving Tenzin as both a more capable but less willing replacement as Headmaster. While the change was much-needed, the lasting impression of a Headmaster that had absconded his duties and the repercussions of his mistakes did little to reassure the public of Hogwarts’ integrity as an educational institution.

As far as Tenzin was concerned, the school’s reputation had spiraled into an abyss darker than the depths of which even the Hundred Year War hadn’t offered.

On the bright side, the task force had been dismantled almost immediately after break, which, barring some initial resistance on the part of purebloods (“We’re basically offering Amon an opening!”), alleviated some of the tension amongst the student body. There was, of course, lingering feelings of superiority—mingled with fear—consequent hostility, squabbles in the hallways, points deducted, detentions assigned…

Korra wondered what the half-bloods thought of all this. They weren’t exactly exempt from Amon’s wrath, but they didn’t harbor the same animosity either side did against the other. She’d asked the twins once, but they’d replied in unison, “Dunno.”

Tenzin had additionally implemented a policy of transparency—no longer withholding information from children and parents (unlike Raiko). He even went as far as to send home weekly newsletters to inform families of any critical developments. While it was a necessary change, and would greatly benefit everyone in the long run, it was accompanied by a lot of initial resistance; after all, ignorance was bliss, and the valor of the remaining students and their families stemmed from such oblivion.

To boot, with Tenzin’s sudden and forced promotion, Ravenclaw was left without a Head of House, as was Slytherin; after some discussion, Suyin had stepped up as Slytherin’s Head of House, while another senior professor had been elected to head Ravenclaw. The faculty had managed to gather a few passable replacements for Potions and Herbology until the end of the year, but that was all they were—passable. While Korra was grateful for the change in staff—accompanied by a sharp improvement in her Potions grade—she could barely keep her eyes open in class, they were that bland. 

Thankfully, as much as Korra loved Pema, having Katara at Hogwarts was an utter delight. Their healing sessions were always accompanied by her favorite Southern Wizarding Tribe tea and plenty of gossip from home—gossip her parents would never let her indulge in, but which Katara would encourage with a playful wink.

Nevertheless, Korra couldn’t completely ignore (deny) the matter of her leg, as much as she wanted to. The last week at Tenzin’s had been grueling, she could barely stand on her own. Consequently, the first week back at school had entailed a lot of hobbling and tripping, a lot of self-pity—and a lot of ignoring mail from home. (Although somewhat mollified by Katara’s presence at Hogwarts, Tonraq and Senna’s never-ending campaign hadn’t faltered.)  

However, most astonishing of all, was that Amon had been suspiciously quiet over break. Korra had waited, with bated breath, for the next attack—the next ambush, the next raid—only to be met with complete silence. There was no news from the Equalists, no mention of Hiroshi—nothing.

It was as though the last few months had been in her head.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or unnerved by the inactivity, and settled on her latest and most consistent modes of processing information: indecision, followed by stalling.

The silence continued into February, and while Korra’s leg improved—healed totally and miraculously, rather (she’d even rejoined Quidditch practice in preparation for the final match against Slytherin)—her sleep did not.

Korra groaned, rolled her shoulder.

The students had been ushered back to sleeping bags in the teachers’ quarters—amongst the cascade of additional security measures—despite a brief respite over the holidays. Consequently, sleeping on the floor for well over a month had left Korra with the flexibility of a dying turtle. (In an ironic turn of events, Asami had been assigned to her room again—only this time, Korra found herself anxiety-ridden for very different reasons.)

She’d taken about two steps out of the Common Room before—

“OI!”

Puzzled as to what she’d done to merit such austerity, Korra turned to find Toza hobbling towards her irritably. (Her gaze lingered on his prosthetic leg longer than usual, and she shivered unpleasantly.)

“Sir?” Korra inquired impatiently.

She was late for Quidditch practice, and the match was tomorrow.

“Don’t give me that clueless look,” Toza grouched, coming to a halt before Korra. He gazed up at her expectantly, and when her expression remained unchanged, exasperatedly. He sighed. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Err…”

Toza was perhaps the last person on Korra’s mind at any given time, and any sort of activity or obligation to him was even further buried in the recesses of her failing memory.

“ _Detention_ , you little scoundrel! You told me to push it back after break!” Toza snapped, rattling his lantern in Korra’s face. “I gave you a month!”

Comprehension dawned on Korra—and then embarrassment.

_I actually literally, totally, utterly, absolutely forgot about that._

“Right, sorry…sir…” Korra mumbled sheepishly, unable to resurface from behind her hand.

Toza harrumphed. “Save it for the Headmaster. Follow me.”

Korra went stiff as a rod, embarrassment all but forgotten.

“ _Now?_ Sir, I have practice—”

“You should’ve thought about that before shirking detention for a month,” Toza retorted unsympathetically.

“I…” Korra’s confidence was beginning to falter. He wasn’t wrong. “But sir, the match is tomorrow. If I miss this practice—”

“You’re a bloody prefect, for Merlin’s sake!”

Korra fell silent.

_Prefect…Chosen One…I guess the list of neglected duties goes on…_

Noticing Korra’s expression (though perhaps not completely grasping its source), Toza sighed and allowed his own to soften.

“Look,” he began awkwardly, without looking directly at Korra, “I…I heard what happened over break. What you did. What happened to…you.” A pause, heavy with a subject neither could articulate nor even address properly. “So, I tried to give you more time. But a month is well beyond school policy…” Toza trailed off, clearly not thrilled about having to hassle Korra after everything.

That was enough to persuade her.

Korra smiled in resignation. “I understand, sir. Lead the way.”

Toza blinked.

He stared at her for a moment, as though he hadn’t actually expected that to work, then quickly regained his composure. With a huff, the caretaker began lumbering down towards the Headmaster’s Office, a dejected Korra trailing after him.

Tenzin looked just as baffled and unprepared to see Korra as she was to see him.

“Korra? What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice?” he inquired, barely managing to lift his head. (His desk was overflooded.)

Toza cleared his throat. “She’s serving detention, sir. Overdue.”

The caretaker dismissed himself before Tenzin could fully process the statement, the latter still absorbed in his paperwork, and hobbled back down the stairwell.

After an eternity, Tenzin seemed to come to his senses. He blinked at Korra. “Detention? For what?”

“I was up after curfew.”

Tenzin deadpanned.

“You’re a prefect.”

“I didn’t have my badge on.”

Tenzin groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for this…”

He’d handed off Head of Ravenclaw to another professor, but the faculty hadn’t anticipated the need for another Charms professor (Tenzin had Raiko to thank for this). Thus, in addition to his new Headmaster duties, Tenzin still had to juggle his responsibilities as the resident Charms expert.

“Sorry, sir,” Korra muttered, eyes on the floor.

Tenzin shook his head. “It’s fine, Korra. I’m sure you’re just as busy.”

(Korra doubted that.)

He then reached into his robes and produced an odd-looking pocket watch made of what appeared to be pewter. On the back of the watch was engraved a very simple yet paradoxically ornate white lotus.

Frowning, Tenzin pocketed the strange watch and glanced back at Korra apologetically. “I suppose we could use this as an opportunity to brush up on Charms? I know I’ve been skimping on our lessons lately.”

(Korra had little problem with this.)

Still, it beat whatever ‘detention’ might entail, so she nodded fervently (head still down).

“All right. Well—” Tenzin rose to his feet and summoned his coat with a swish of his wand “—I have a meeting right now, so wait here for the time being. I’ll be back shortly.”

Korra didn’t have a chance to protest—Tenzin had vanished by the time she lifted her head.

 _I thought you couldn’t Apparate or Disspparate within Hogwarts…?_ she wondered vaguely.

Accepting that, whatever the circumstances were, she was alone for the next twenty to thirty minutes, Korra gazed around curiously. She’d never actually been inside the Headmaster’s Office before—not when she’d taken to avoiding Raiko like the plague for almost six years.

The office was vast—much larger than Tenzin’s old one—and perfectly circular. It was far more eclectic than how Tenzin would’ve decorated it, given the opportunity (Korra suspected the arrangement was his father’s doing). The room was brimming with a variety of ostentatious furniture and magical devices, some emitting smoke, others odd noises Korra wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the source of. Along the walls were portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses; on the other side of the room, something that resembled an archaic sink (a Pensieve, Korra realized belatedly), and hanging just below the portrait directly behind Tenzin’s desk—

The sword of Godric Gryffindor.

Encased in a glass display, it was easily the most eye-catching item in the room—gorgeous, artfully crafted, glittering silver and a golden hilt embedded with rubies—but that’s all it seemed to be: eye-catching.

Korra tilted her head.

Outside of a short-lived fantasy as a first year, in which, she’d imagined herself as some sort of knight in shining armor, Gryffindor’s sword tucked into her belt, she’d never really seen a use for the weapon. They were wizards—what good could a sword possibly be in combat—or at all, really?

Then, her gaze settled on Tenzin’s desk. Several letters from angry parents, letters stamped with the emergency seal, mounds of paperwork, stacks of _Evening Prophets_ …

Korra’s heart lurched.

_He doesn’t deserve any of this…he’s stuck cleaning up a mess that wasn’t even his to begin with…_

“Long time no see, Chosen One.”

Korra nearly jumped out of her skin.

She turned on the spot, wand out, vision starting to grow red around the edges—

“Still as feisty as when you first wore me, I see,” the Sorting Hat commented mildly. It sounded amused.

If it had a face, Korra was certain it would be raising an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry—I—I thought you were…someone else,” Korra mumbled sheepishly, stowing her wand. She was bright pink—could barely even look at the enchanted hat.

That is, until it said something that made her blood run cold.

“Ah…perhaps the one your fate is tied with?”

Korra turned on the Sorting Hat—crossed the room in three quick strides—

“How do you know about that?” she demanded.

The Sorting Hat only chuckled. “There’s a lot I know that you don’t.”

Korra groaned.

_At this point, even Ikki can say that to me and I’d believe her._

“So I’ve been told,” Korra retorted bitterly. “Care to share?”

She’d been sarcastic.

Then, the Sorting Hat clicked its tongue—as though _considering_ it.

“I suppose I have to sooner or later,” it relented cryptically.

_Wha—_

Korra didn’t have time to ask.

The Sorting Hat opened its mouth—a blinding white light flooded the room—

Then, in the very same pitch it recited the start-of-term song every year:

_“He’ll leave his Chosen the House treasure;_

_He’ll pass onto them, that which was passed onto him,_

_His spirit, his wisdom, his power, his gem,_

_That which they’ll pass on then,_

_The cycle of those bound_

_Does not end.”_

When Korra lowered her hand, the light was gone, and the Sorting Hat had fallen silent again—as though it’d never spoken in the first place.

She frowned.

 _He? Who’s he? It can’t possibly be talking about_ Amon _, right?_ Korra shook her head. She doubted Amon would ever leave her an inheritance—or anything, for that matter—were she even the ‘Chosen’ the hat was referring to. _‘He’ll leave his Chosen’…?_

Then, it hit her, like a ton of bricks.

Korra seized the Sorting Hat—

“Was that the rest of Aang the Chosen’s prophecy?” she demanded breathlessly, all but throttling the enchanted hat. “Was it?”

The Sorting Hat shifted to the side, as though tilting its head at her. If anything, it looked more disgruntled by the fact that it was being manhandled by a student than invested or even remotely interested in the fate of the world.

“What do you think?” the Sorting Hat retorted irritably.

Korra’s mind was racing.

“I—I need to write this down—”

Korra set the hat down immediately (“I can’t breathe,” it protested) and raced back to Tenzin’s desk. Barring a split-second of hesitation, soon accompanied by guilt, she began rummaging through the drawers in search of a quill—ink—anything, really—

In her haste, she knocked over a vial full of what looked like an Incorporeal Patronus.

While Korra was frantically copying down what she could recall, the Sorting Hat added, “When you are in times of need, call upon your House for guidance.”

Korra’s quill stilled.

“What?”

No answer.

“What does that mean?” Korra called over her shoulder, growing impatient.

When she still received no answer, she turned on her heel in exasperation—

But the Sorting Hat had become entirely immobile.

“FUCK!”

The pot of ink shattered against the other end of the room. Korra exhaled deeply, massaging her temple with two fingers.

 _“Reparo,_ ” she muttered with a lazy flick of her wand. A quiet rustling reminiscent of wine glasses clinking together. “ _Accio.”_

Nothing.

Korra sighed. She stood up straight and pointed her wand directly at the newly repaired vial.

 _“Accio vial!”_ Korra repeated more forcefully.

She hadn’t actually expected it to work—

Then, to her amazement—and immense disbelief—it quivered violently, leapt into the air—

And shattered again at her feet.

Korra sighed.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

There was a singular detail Korra had missed in her original scan of the room: The portrait behind Tenzin’s desk had been empty when she’d entered. Now, before her stood—

“ _Aang?_ ” Korra breathed incredulously.

The man in the portrait—a bearded, bald man with warm gray eyes—beamed widely. He lowered his hands—one of them—and used the other to wave at Korra.

“Aang,” she repeated in awe.

Despite being Tenzin’s father, Aang bore little resemblance to his son. There were the superficial things—the excessive facial hair, the lack thereof in other places, the robes—but Aang’s entire mien was much milder than Tenzin’s. Where Tenzin always looked distressed or otherwise irritated, Aang’s expression was radiating with life, playful even, and despite his mortal age at death, he didn’t look a day over forty. His eyes were rounder than Tenzin’s, softer, cheeks less gaunt, and lips—actually visible.

More pressing, however—and Korra had great difficulty tearing her eyes away from this detail—was a long, deep scar that ran diagonally across Aang’s right palm…

“You…” Korra murmured.

 _“I don’t understand how that sweet-tempered man chose_ you _as—”_

She stared up at Aang.

“Did you choose me?”

A beat.

Aang’s expression didn’t change. He kept smiling and waving.

“Choose me…for what?” Korra continued, frowning.

Nothing.

Aang continued smiling and waving.

“Why did you pick _me_?” Korra pressed, stepping closer to the portrait. “Why not Tenzin? Or Kya or Bumi—anyone else?”

Aang faltered slightly. Lowered his hand.

“How are we related?” Korra continued, crossing the room. “ _You_ ’re the Chosen One. _You_ ’re the prophesized child. What am I? Where do I come in in all of this?”

Nothing.

“I’m turning seventeen in five months—can’t you just tell me now?”

Aang tilted his head.

Korra was beginning to lose her patience.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Apparently not.

“Why did this happen to me? What does this even mean? What am I supposed to do with this power—where does it come from? Is it _you_?” she nearly spat.

Korra was now circling the portrait. She didn’t doubt that she looked deranged, eyes wide with desperation, hands itching at her sides to grab Aang’s robes through the portrait and yank him into the realm of the living.

“Why did you give it to me? Why did you save my life? What am I supposed to do with this?”

Her voice was growing louder and louder—

Aang hesitated. For a fleeting moment, Korra almost believed he would say something—

He flashed an apologetic smile.

“WHY _ME_?” Korra bellowed, slamming her fist into Tenzin’s desk.

_Crack._

Aang’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.

Korra had caused the massive thing to crack straight down the middle.

Recognizing the current of power flowing through her again, Korra drew a deep breath and willed herself to relax. Waited, waited, waited, as it ebbed away…

“ _Reparo,_ ” Korra murmured quietly, when it felt like her aura was balanced enough to cast a spell.

The splintered ends of the desk began whirring—a golden light encased the crack running down the middle—then the desk was as good as new. Tenzin’s paperwork, on the other hand…

Korra sighed in resignation.

It was in the midst of separating his weekly agenda from his death threats that Korra’s fingers grazed the vial she’d knocked over earlier. Fortunately, it was still intact. However—

Korra’s eyes narrowed as her hand closed around it.

She inspected it for a moment longer, trying to ascertain her suspicions before turning to face Aang’s portrait.

“It was you, wasn’t it? All those months ago—you’re the one who sent me that vision—err, I mean those memories of Tarrlok and…” for whatever reason, a chill passed over Korra, “and his brother.”

At this, Aang finally nodded.

Korra paused. Thumbed the vial in her hand.

“There’s something you’re trying to tell me, isn’t there?”

Aang nodded again, more solemnly this time.

There was no mistaking it—the vial was almost identical to the one Jinora had presented her with after the match against Ravenclaw.

“You _wanted_ me to find this, didn’t you?” Korra continued quietly.

The memory bristled against the edges of the vial almost aggressively, as if it couldn’t wait to get out.

Aang gestured to something behind Korra. She turned—

_Of course._

The Pensieve.

A beat.

Korra approached it cautiously.

It was a shallow metal basin, along the edges of which, danced runes, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and topazes, repeating over and over again in a set pattern. Filling the basin was an amalgamation of silvery, wispy substances, not necessarily unlike the one in the vial, but more idiosyncratic: varying textures and lengths, as though they were memories collected from various witches and wizards for generations.

Korra took a deep breath.

She didn’t know what to expect—didn’t know why she was taking orders from a man who’d been dead for almost sixteen years (and a talking hat)—her mind was still reeling—the last time she’d visited someone else’s memories, all it did was hurt her—Tenzin would be back soon—

Korra popped the cork off the vial and emptied its contents into the Pensieve. At once, the device began fizzling and popping—as though someone had added oil to a hot pan. She turned to gaze questioningly at Aang, who only nodded in encouragement.

Gripping the edges of the Pensieve, which were searing, almost too hot to touch—

Korra fell into Aang’s memories.

 

* * *

               

When Jinora had given Korra her testimony, Korra had directly submitted it to Tenzin and Lin without so much as a peek. Every other experience she’d had in someone else’s memories had been through Legilimency—which was similar to having a fever, and then blacking out and waking up lost.

This, on the other hand—

Korra’s hands closed around her throat as she fell.

If she reached out in front of her, she wouldn’t be able to see her hands anymore—she could scarcely breathe, the air around her was so tight. The funnel—the nothingness—whatever—wherever she was—was frigid, excruciating, not unlike plunging into the ocean before dawn. Korra wondered briefly if Aang had tricked her into a black hole—

Then, just as abruptly, Korra found herself in a—in a—

Courtroom?

_What._

She glanced around.

Korra had only ever been in a courtroom once, a decade ago, when her uncle had been sentenced to life in prison for treason and crimes against the Southern Wizarding Tribe. She could scarcely remember that experience at all, let alone what the courtroom looked like. However, one look at the one she was currently in told her how differently criminal processions were handled in the United Kingdom.

She could recall at least one thing about her uncle’s hearing: ceremony. The Southern Wizarding Tribe’s ceremonial culture bled across a variety of daily happenings, but any matter of gravity was always elevated to a status not dissimilar to that of a festival—though barring the positive connotations, of course—and had just as much of a ritual to it, just as much weight and grandeur.

This, on the other hand, made Korra willingly want to go home.

They were in a dungeon of some sort, that much Korra could gather. The court was shrouded in harsh, paradoxically dim lighting—the source of which remained unknown to Korra—and was entirely barren save for rows and rows of benches, staggered in altitude, and a single chair at the center with chains bound tightly around the arms. There was a slight, purplish hue that Korra was sure she wasn’t imagining drifting from the chains; the sight made her sick, and she didn’t doubt that they’d been jinxed to either forcibly prevent the occupant from casting magic or torture them.

Or both.

However, worst of all were the Dementors prowling about.

Korra had never actually seen a Dementor before. She had, she supposed—a boggart, once in her third year and once again a few months ago—but never one in its true form. They were terrible things, faceless, hooded, almost shapeless grim reaper-like creatures, and had an even worse impact on the already dismal room; a few witches and wizards shivered uncomfortably as they passed.

The entire court was packed with spectators, most of whom, Korra didn’t recognize, given that this was likely decades before she’d even been conceived—

A heavy sigh next to her made her nearly leap out of her skin.

To Korra’s shock—and consequent lack of surprise, given whose memory she was viewing—Aang was sitting beside her. They were on one of the highest benches in the room, and despite the lack of gray in his beard, this Aang looked far more distressed and aged than the one Korra had seen in the Headmaster’s Office.

Aang’s jaw was clenched, and he was biting the nail of his thumb. Next to him—

Korra gasped.

A beautiful woman from the Southern Wizarding Tribe placed a hand on Aang’s, squeezed it reassuringly. But there was something familiar about the soft curve of her nose, the gentle glimmer in her eyes—

“Katara?” Korra breathed, not entirely believing it.

There was no mistaking it. It was Katara, without decades of age wearing down her bright features, without a trace of gray in her hair, smiling beautifully at Aang. There was a measured pain in her eyes, however, one that Korra couldn’t fathom.

“…my client is being accused of a crime he cannot possibly commit,” a springy wizard who bore a remarkable resemblance to a twig was declaring at the center of the room.

Korra glanced down.

She’d overlooked it at first—too disoriented by the abrupt change in her surroundings—but she soon recognized the man (criminal) chained to the chair as—

_You’ve got to be joking._

But there was no doubt.

Wearing the same sinister grin that’d peeked up at Korra from her trunk all of winter break was Yakone. His rapidly approaching demise did little to frighten him, though, apparently, for nothing in his expression suggested his smugness was forced. In fact, the crime lord seemed to be the most relaxed inhabitant in the room, smirking provocatively at the council of judges before him, which consisted of—

Korra’s jaw was starting to hurt from all the unexpected (yet entirely expected) revelations.

Sokka, like Aang and Katara, much younger, fitter, and alert, stood at the center, staring down Yakone with all the ferocity of an enraged dragon. Beside him, a strong, burly woman—Eastern Asian, Korra guessed—with raven hair cropped short around her face and brushed out of her eyes; why, Korra couldn’t tell, for her eyes were pallid, an undeniable indicator of her disability.

Then—

“TOPH?” Korra cried, leaping to her feet.

Again, there was no denying it.

Toph Beifong stood beside Sokka, and though she wasn’t looking directly at Yakone, Korra had little doubt who the target of her stony expression was.

(There were three others Korra didn’t recognize: a witch and two wizards. They remained seated.)

“As most of you are aware,” the scraggly wizard—lawyer—Korra couldn’t tell—continued, “my client has created multiple Horcruxes, the process of which, requires the splitting of his soul.”

Korra stared.

They’d gone over Horcruxes briefly at some point during the year; Lin had described them as 'objects in which a wizard has embedded a piece of their soul, usually, in order to escape mortality.’ But Korra had been told it was an excruciating process—a cursed one, irreversible, and one that only the darkest witches and wizards performed.

After all, Horcruxes could only be created directly after committing murder.

Multiple _horcruxes?_

Korra felt bile rising in her throat.

“Again, as most of you are aware, our souls are the source of our magic—and, as we tamper with them, our ability to cast magic declines, as well as the strength of our magic itself,” the lawyer drawled on monotonously. “Now, I urge you to think about it. The Unforgivable Curses are three of the most difficult and powerful spells in existence. Casting the Imperius Curse on multiple witches and wizards at a time—let alone hundreds—is a feat entirely unheard of in the wizarding world. Moreover, the fact that Aang the Chosen has destroyed said Horcruxes, only adds to the line of reasoning that my client would be unable to perform the atrocious crimes he’s been accused of.

“Thus, High Jury, while we plead guilty to the creation of Horcruxes—” _in effect_ , Korra thought darkly, _to murder_ “—with what little he has left of his soul and magic, I highly implore you all to reconsider the additional crimes you’ve accused Yakone of the Northern Wizarding tribe with.”

The entire room burst into whispers as the council filed out of the room.

“There’s…there’s no way he’ll get away with this, right?” Aang whispered to Katara with surprising ingenuousness.

Katara, who’d been glaring at the back of Yakone’s head, softened immediately at the sound of her husband’s voice. She turned to Aang with a tight smile, one that attempted to be reassuring but fell short, landing somewhere between resigned and uncertain.

“I don’t know. I know Toph and Sokka will campaign hard but…the rest of the wizarding world doesn’t know as much as we do. And most of the evidence consists of victims’ testimonies, which can be argued as circumstantial or unreliable, since there’s no way of really telling who’s under the Imperius Curse.” Katara exhaled deeply. “And, as we know, that’s an excuse used often in court to escape fault...”

Aang’s face darkened.

“Whatever happens, we have to act justly, in accordance with what’s presented in court, not based on our personal feelings,” Katara concluded, with impressive objectivity.

Aang gritted his teeth. “Our personal _feelings_? He almost _killed_ you—”

The pain in Katara’s eyes suddenly made sense.

Korra’s stomach churned.

Katara hushed Aang hastily, flashing an apologetic smile at anyone who glanced over. Aang’s outburst had garnered significant attention from the courtroom; almost everyone seemed to be focused on them now. Despite the fact that Korra wasn’t actually part of this memory, she still felt the need to shrink away.

“You’re the Chosen One,” Katara reminded Aang gently, in a tone that made Korra think of Asami.

Aang sighed in resignation.

“I know,” he muttered. Forcing a smile on his face, he squeezed Katara’s hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Katara coaxed, resting her head on Aang’s shoulder. “Regardless of what happens today, most of the nation has faced his brutality at one point or another. Even if he escapes the law, he can’t escape the wrath of the people he’s hurt.”

“I know I shouldn’t say things like this, but I sure hope so,” Aang mumbled before pulling Katara closer to press a kiss to her temple.

Korra felt a burning need to look away.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to sit through the entire memory—a blink later, the council was making its way back into the room. Sokka looked appeased, Korra noted, and that alone made her feel better (even though she knew how this ended).

“All rise!” Toph barked in a manner almost identical to her daughter. (Korra had to smile.) “Councilman Sokka will now announce the verdict.”

There was shuffling, accompanied by a lot of murmuring as the inhabitants of the court stumbled to their feet.

“The Magical High Court of London has reviewed both parties’ arguments, as well as the evidence presented in court,” Sokka began, in an uncharacteristically somber voice. Korra could hardly believe he was the same person as the silly ghost she’d encountered. Sokka’s eyes hardened. “After six hours of deliberation, we have reached a verdict.

“While the defense has brought to light some very persuasive arguments—”

Korra held her breath.

She wasn’t the only one—the entire courtroom was leaning forward in their seats, faces wrought with tension. The suspense was almost tangible, like a leaden weight boring down on the spectators; it seeped into Korra’s bones, left her feeling vulnerable and paralyzed—

“—we have decided they are not applicable to this case.”

 Korra nearly slid off the bench in relief.

A cheer went up around the room—followed by a gavel pounding and a lot of shouting—the Dementors swirled about anxiously—

Amongst the commotion, Korra caught a glimpse of Yakone.

His grin had vanished.

Finally, once the court had settled, Sokka continued gravely, “As many of you are aware, during what was supposed to be my fifth year at Hogwarts, I traveled the world expansively alongside Aang the Chosen and my sister, Katara, who testified earlier as one of the victims of Yakone’s hate crimes against muggle-borns.” A pause. Korra glanced at Katara. Her eyes were as hard as steel. “During our many travels, we encountered all kinds of different witches and wizards, with abilities unknown to the wizarding world before then.” Another pause. Sokka’s voice softened as he added, “One of which, includes our very own Head of Magical Law Enforcement and Head Auror, Toph Beifong, who has stretched the fabric of elemental magic beyond that which the average wizard could conceive.”

(To Korra’s amusement, Toph’s expression remained entirely unimpressed.)

“As a matter of fact, we once ran into an old woman who possessed an ability very similar to Yakone’s. Not as powerful, and certainly not utilized in the same way, but a very eerily similar ability. Moreover, what we learned from the Dark Lord, is that, yes, splitting one’s soul does result in weaker magic. However—”

For whatever reason, a chill passed over Korra. It wasn’t unlike the one she’d felt earlier in the Headmaster’s Office.

“—splitting one’s soul also strengthens a wizard’s ability to cast _dark_ magic.”

A gasp ran through the courtroom.

Yakone’s jaw clenched.

Korra frowned.

“Now, given that the defendant has created five Horcruxes, one could say his ability to cast dark magic has been increased fivefold. And,” Sokka made a grand show of flipping through Yakone’s charges—a rather hefty stack of paper, “the list of crimes that has been brought against him all happen to require a strong potential for dark magic.”

Aang and Katara exchanged a look of relief.

The courtroom was vibrating with anticipation.

Yakone bared his teeth at the council.

Sokka smirked at him.

“The defendant has been accused of numerous counts of brainwashing, torture, uses of dark magic, notably the Unforgivable Curses, murder, and hate crimes against muggle-borns and the muggle population of London.” Sokka’s smirk widened. Korra’s frown deepened. “It is my pleasure to announce that the Magical High Court of London finds Yakone of the Northern Wizarding Tribe guilty on all accounts and sentences him to a Dementor’s kiss—"

It was a moment, just for a brief moment. Korra found herself sitting in the Great Hall six months ago, gazing up at the High Table, waiting for the school song to begin.

Then, all the candles in the Great Hall burst into flames—and the Dementors swooped down upon the inhabitants of the courtroom.

Pandemonium.

There was an ensuing struggle–the struggle of casting Patronuses, which, a startling number of wizards failed to do, the struggle of escaping the courtroom, the struggle of trying to communicate through all the madness—

And all the while, Yakone smirked, one hand raised almost disinterestedly from where he sat.

Korra stared.

The chains were obviously enchanted—jinxed, cursed, what be it—to prevent the prisoner from casting magic. So, whether it was his fragmented soul or his unparalleled finesse, Korra couldn’t tell, that Yakone was casting an Unforgivable Curse—effortlessly—en masse, upon creatures which were supposed to be resistant to magic altogether, _wandlessly_.

( _Funny_ , she thought—or thought she thought—was she thinking at all? _Basilisks were also supposed to be immune to magic…)_

Aang and Katara, busy casting Patronus after Patronus, hadn’t noticed the source of the chaos—meanwhile, Toph was trying to evacuate the courtroom—

All around Korra, Dementors were sucking the souls from innocent spectators, silvery spirit animals pranced about in a desperate attempt to fend off the perpetrators, and before her, unstoppably, uncontrollably—

Korra’s jaw dropped in horror.

Sokka, eyes glazed, was marching towards Yakone.

Korra had only witnessed the use of the Imperius Curse on a human once before, and Asami had been wearing a mask. If she didn’t already know about Yakone’s ability, she would’ve never guessed Sokka was under the curse; his eyes were slightly unfocused, and his posture was somewhat off, but save for that, he seemed his usual self, moving with steadfast purpose.

Nobody had noticed.

“He’s getting away!” Korra cried desperately. She swatted at a nearby wizard, but her hand just went straight through his arm. “Ugh—dammit—”

Sokka waved his wand over Yakone’s arms, and the shackles dropped to the floor without protest.

Grinning, Yakone stood, rolling his wrists. He cracked his head twice before coming face to face with—

“You again,” Yakone spat.

Korra whirled on the spot.

At last, Aang had taken notice.

And Korra had never seen him so livid.

“You won’t stop me this time, Chosen One,” Yakone began, raising his hand—

Aang only had to flick his wand.

Yakone flew backwards, over the benches, through the court doors, and slammed hard against the wall outside.

Korra didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Aang stormed after his prey. Blinking rapidly, she stumbled after him, barely managing to keep him in her line of sight he moved so swiftly.

She’d only just managed to catch up to Aang when—

Korra gasped.

Although Yakone’s eyes were wide, trembling with fear, he still held out a hand desperately in front of him—

“No!” Korra hissed, but it was too late.

Aang slowed down, breathing stilling, eyes glazed.

Korra rushed around to stand before Aang—waved her hands frantically in his face—

But of course, he couldn’t see her. Instead, he gazed at Yakone blankly, passively.

Yakone sighed in relief, then simpered up at Aang.

It was short-lived.

Aang’s lips began twitching—then his arms—a vein was popping out prominently on his forehead; all the while, his eyes kept going in and out of focus.

Yakone took notice quickly and raised his hand again—

Vaguely, somewhere at the back of her mind, Korra had to appreciate what a powerful witch Asami was, realizing she’d shaken off the curse herself once.

Then, she paused.

There was something else there, in that memory—something on the tip of her tongue—something she was on the brink of naming—

Suddenly, Korra understood what Asami meant.

A blinding, searing white light burst from Aang’s eyes, which were now pallid, nearly shapeless—

Korra had never seen such a sight before: Aang was positively glowing. His aura radiated around him in a powerful display of magic, the likes of which Korra had never witnessed; where aura ordinarily looked something like wisps of vapor, Aang’s was a deep, rich cloud of smoke, vibrant with hues.

However, most astonishing was the fact that Aang’s aura was not a singular color.

Everyone’s aura generally had a distinct tint to it—Asami’s was a deep, dark purple, Mako’s was a brilliant scarlet, Bolin’s was a bright, earthy sort of green—but Aang’s looked something like celestial lights, dreamy blues and pinks and purples raging all about him in a vortex of color.

 _Is this what the fully realized power of the Chosen One looks like?_ Korra wondered to herself. A pause. A thought occurred to her. _Is this…what I’m supposed to be?_

However, unlike Korra, Aang seemed to be fully in control of his magic in this state. Evidently immune to the curse now, he glowered down at Yakone before drawing his wand from his robes.

Scrambling backwards in panic, Yakone began sending out spells at random—

Aang deflected them effortlessly. Teeth bared, eyes ablaze with fury, he began stalking forward; he looked something like a lion closing in on his prey, moving slowly, deliberately, with one unwavering purpose.

As Aang cornered Yakone, Korra noticed the odd sheen of his wand. Examining it closer, she quickly realized it wasn’t just the shade—which was much darker than any wand Korra had seen before—that was off; the wand itself was much, much longer than average. Most peculiar of all was the handle, which, unlike most (smooth and slightly larger than the shaft of the wand), was formed from conjoined spheres.

Ollivander would have a stroke before even thinking about crafting such a wand, Korra couldn’t help but think.

At last, Aang stood before Yakone, who was now firmly wedged against the end of the narrow hallway.

It was silent—the courtroom’s commotion muted by a Silencing Charm—dark, empty, chilling.

One last-ditch attempt—Yakone raised his hand—

“I’ll make sure you never cast the Imperius Curse—or any other spell—ever again,” Aang growled in a voice that wasn’t entirely his own.

In a single, elegant sweep of his wand—a white flash—the Body-Bind Curse—Yakone was immobile. He was still erect, however, all but kneeling before Aang, eyes wide in sheer terror—

Aang was unsympathetic.

He placed his wand on Yakone’s forehead in a fashion not unlike that of which Korra had restored Asami’s memories (she now understood the reason for the heiress’s panic), and—

With a blinding explosion of light, Yakone’s mouth spilled open, his eyes rolled back—

Then Yakone of the Northern Wizarding Tribe was no more.

Korra felt the change in the room like a change in wind—Yakone’s aura, which had filled the hall with an oppressive, suffocating air, faded into nothingness, leaving an empty carcass of a man in its place.

Korra glanced at Aang, who was panting heavily, half-expecting him to turn to her and explain the relevance of the memory. At the very least, she expected to re-materialize in the Headmaster’s Office.

However, neither of her expectations were met.

Korra blinked—and then she was standing in front of the Great Lake.

The ambience of this memory was so radically different from the last that Korra nearly lost her balance. Sunlight shone down brilliantly upon the surface of the lake, casting the courtyard in a warm glow; there was a distinct, permeating calm about the entire vicinity.

Korra was still orienting herself when—

“Sir? May I join you?”

She turned.

Aang was sitting under the same willow tree Korra and her friends often lounged around (she was surprised to find that it hadn’t changed at all), had been browsing through a book (“How to Handle Angry Women”). He glanced up at the speaker—

Korra gasped.

It was a boy from a Wizarding Tribe—Korra couldn’t tell which—but there was no mistaking the copper tone of his skin, the stark contrast of his steel-blue eyes. He was rather handsome, bearing a calm mien, defined features, and dark hair cropped short and combed neatly to the side in classic Westerner fashion. (Tonraq would have a stroke before letting any of the men of their tribe cut their hair.) Korra noticed the ‘Prefect’ badge fastened to his robes (yellow and black, to Korra’s utter shock), and deduced he couldn’t be more than a year younger than her.

However, there was something about his eyes—something empty, something chillingly, unnervingly apathetic, almost as if he had no emotional capacity at all.

Korra shivered.

Then, examining the student more closely (despite her better judgment), she realized there was something eerily familiar about him.

_Is this…Yakone? When he was a student?_

Korra supposed it had to be, since it was incredibly rare for Hogwarts to accept students outside of the United Kingdom, and this was (most likely) far before her father’s time.

Aang blinked. Then, a warm smile spread across his face. “Of course—you know I always have time for you.”

Where any other student would blush—or at least, show some kind of reaction when receiving such substantial attention from the Headmaster—the boy merely nodded and sat down beside Aang.

Korra raised an eyebrow.

The boy hadn’t just sat down next to Aang—he’d quickly positioned himself so that he was mirroring Aang’s exact posture, down to the way Aang’s right foot leaned to the side slightly more than his left. Aang seemed not to have noticed, still gazing at the boy with profound affection.

 _What an awkward conclusion to this saga,_ Korra thought to herself, the memory of Yakone and Aang’s battle still fresh.

“What’s on your mind?” Aang pressed, still beaming.

The boy—Yakone, Korra supposed—began playing with his shoelaces.

“I got detention,” Yakone stated matter-of-factly.

He didn’t seem too bothered by this—or, perhaps he was, for despite the lack of emotion in his voice, his hands stilled for a moment. Then, he resumed fiddling with his laces.

Aang’s smile faltered.

“What for?”

Yakone prodded his shoe. “Used a curse on some Slytherins.”

Aang immediately frowned.

“ _What for?_ ” he repeated, in a tone not unlike the one Tonraq often used when Korra had acted out in some way as a child.

(Korra hardly thought the fatherly tone was appropriate for the severity of the situation.)

Yakone sighed. “They were messing with some muggle-borns again. Told them off—they didn’t listen. Didn’t know what else to do.”

Korra wondered if she’d misheard—didn’t Yakone _hate_ muggle-borns? Wasn’t that the very reason he’d been arrested in the first place? (Well, that was later on, she supposed.)

Aang pinched the bridge of his nose. He remained that way for a long time.

Yakone stole a glance at Aang and then returned his attention to his shoes.

“Are you disappointed in me?” he chanced.

Aang exhaled deeply before lowering his hand. His eyes remained closed.

“Yes, I am.” Yakone winced. “We’ve talked about this before. You’re a _prefect_. What did I tell you to do if that sort of thing happens?”

“Get a professor,” Yakone mumbled.

“So?”

“I tried,” Yakone protested. “But he didn’t care. Some of the professors still…”

For a moment, Yakone’s eyes went cold. The slightest trace of emotion—there, under his irises, like the shadow that hugged the dark side of the moon. His hands were shaking.

Then, it was gone.

“...still harbor anti-muggle-born sentiments,” Yakone finished quietly.

This couldn’t have been too long after the Hundred Year War, if Yakone was still a student, so Korra was unsurprised (though displeased) by the lingering animosity. (She wondered what’d happened to make Yakone change his stance so vehemently.)

Aang’s expression softened slightly.

“I understand. And I know you have a sense of duty to protect the helpless and uphold justice, even when those in power do not—which is one of the qualities I admire about you.” Aang paused to flash a small smile at Yakone. Then, he sighed. “But that doesn’t make attacking perpetrators acceptable behavior. Violence will not resolve this—if anything, it’ll only make things worse.”

Yakone nodded morosely, almost like a sulking child.

Then, Aang paused. Seemed to consider.

“Which professor was it?”

Yakone glanced at Aang in surprise.

“Evans, sir.”

Aang nodded. “And the students?”

“Liou, Velenzo, Teng, and Bernal.”

Aang nodded thoughtfully.

A beat.

“I’ll look into the matter.”

A simper spread across Yakone’s face.

“ _Don’t_ misunderstand. That doesn’t mean your detention is revoked,” Aang added sternly. Yakone nodded, seemingly undeterred. Aang sighed again. “But you’re not wrong to be upset,” he admitted. “Some purebloods just…don’t think…”

Aang was obviously trying to choose his words carefully, but there was no mistaking the quiet ire in his voice.

“They just don’t understand that the world doesn’t revolve around them and that magic belongs to everyone,” Aang finished, wearing a tight smile that suggested (screamed) forced civility.  

“People like that don’t deserve to live with magic,” Yakone commented coldly.

But it wasn’t like one of those terrible, meaningless remarks someone made when upset—there was something hard and steadfast in Yakone’s gaze that made Korra shiver again.

Aang looked alarmed. “Taking away magic is no simple matter. Don’t say things like that so lightly.”

“Sorry, sir,” Yakone muttered.

But he didn’t sound remorseful at all—only displeased at Aang’s disapproval.

Aang paused, eyeing Yakone warily, before continuing, “Lord Zuko and I have been developing a civil rights movement for all minorities in the magical community—especially those wronged by the Hundred Year War. You’ll be happy to know it’s gaining momentum.” Yakone looked unconvinced. Aang chuckled, patting Yakone’s thigh encouragingly. “Have hope. One day this won’t be a problem anymore.”

Yakone looked mildly appeased at this. Then, the light in his eyes changed, and Korra knew his attention had drifted elsewhere.

“Sir—can I ask you something?”

Aang nodded. “Of course. Anything.” 

A beat.

Korra’s stomach churned.

Nothing good could come of this.

“Can I ask you about taking away magic, sir?”

Aang hesitated.

 _Finally,_ thought Korra, in spite of her discomfort. _This might be helpful for stopping Amon. Or—I guess—help us understand how he does it, at least._

An eternity passed before Aang nodded.

“What would you like to know?”

Evidently delighted by the reply, Yakone turned so that he was facing Aang.

(Someone was shouting something, somewhere…surely, Korra was hearing things.)

A childlike inquisitiveness had settled on Yakone’s features.

“How do you…how do you do it, sir?”

Aang looked taken aback. (Korra was left to wonder how he _didn’t_ see this question coming.) An expression crossed his face that was too familiar for comfort—an uneasy smile, a self-conciliatory look in his eyes—the very same expression Korra had worn every time she’d convinced herself that, no, Asami wasn’t an Equalist, she couldn’t possibly be an Equalist.

Korra felt like throwing up.

After some time, Aang bit his lip. He looked away, past the Great Lake, somewhere off beyond the horizon, perhaps in search for answers that didn’t exist.

“It’s a power limited to the Chosen One,” Aang said at last. “To _me_.”

Aang’s voice had gone hard.

A pause—leaden with an austerity that couldn’t escape even Yakone, who faltered slightly.

“Do you understand?” Aang added—effectively, demanded.

Yakone nodded.

Aang exhaled deeply, nodded to himself.

“Good.”

Another pause.

“As you know, my fate was tied with the Dark Lord’s. It was a situation where the only solution to ending the war was to… _do away with_ the Dark Lord. I didn’t know what to do, so I—”

“Why didn’t you just kill him, sir?” Yakone interjected.

Aang looked stricken.

“ _What?_ ” he gasped.

“Why didn’t you just kill him?” Yakone repeated impassively. He almost looked bored. “It’s like killing one person to save five, right? In this case, you’d be saving the entire worl—”

“Where did you learn that?” Aang interrupted severely (perhaps, apprehensively).

“I read it in a book, sir. A folktale.”

There was something odd here—something perturbing, something incredibly disconcerting. Korra had heard that principle before, in various stories from various cultures, and didn’t disagree with it.

No, no it wasn’t that.

It was the utter and definite lack of emotion with which Yakone had said it. It was the look of ingenuousness, of genuine incomprehension that what he had suggested was not a simple, matter-of-fact solution—rather, it was perhaps one of the most difficult decisions humanity was forced to make.

And Yakone didn’t seem to recognize this at all.

Aang was still staring at Yakone, jaw slack, while Yakone gazed back expectantly.

Finally, Aang shook his head.

“That’s…that’s not right,” was all he managed to say.

A pause.

Disquiet.

Yakone looked utterly nonplussed.

Another beat.

Aang continued shakily, “Well…anyway, I was losing my mind trying to figure it out. Then, I stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised one day. It showed me that there was a way to stop Ozai without killing him: by taking away his magic.

“I didn’t know how at first, either—I was the first wizard to discover the ability, let alone realize it was a possibility. But the mirror showed me that it’s about directing the current of energy within wizards themselves. We often call this energy—”

“Aura?” Yakone supplied.

(The shouting was growing louder.)

Aang nodded. “Yes. But, the only the Chosen One is able to sense the aura of others.”

Korra balked.

_Korra felt the change in the room like a change in wind—Yakone’s aura, which had filled the hall with an oppressive, suffocating air, faded into nothingness, leaving an empty carcass of a man in its place._

_So…all this time…_

Korra thought of Lin’s aura—she’d felt it so vividly, so surely the morning after her nightmare. She’d been so relieved Lin still had her magic. Korra thought of Asami’s aura—it’d always been so oddly enticing to her, almost the point where she was dependent on its presence to feel complete. And yet, all this time—

_I was the only one who could feel that?_

For a moment, Korra felt lost, detached, distant from her body. Her entire life, she’d been so sure that all wizards were in tune with the energy around them—with the aura of others—just like—just like how she’d been so sure that anyone could cast elemental magic…

 _It’s always been there,_ Korra realized with a jolt. _Who I was meant to be…_

Only this time, she wasn’t scared.

Korra jumped when Aang started speaking again.

“There are other abilities associated with directing others’ aura—such as lightning redirection, which I’m sure you’ve read about—”

“ _The Four Nations_ by General Iroh I,” Yakone confirmed.

Aang nodded. “Exactly. However, only the Chosen One can extract this energy from others.”

Yakone tilted his head. “How come?”

Aang bit his lip again. “Well…you know where magical energy comes from, right?”

“The soul, sir?”

“Yes.” Aang sighed deeply. He looked as though he’d aged ten years with this conversation alone. “That’s correct.” A long pause.

Korra almost thought Aang was going to leave it at that—

“To take away someone’s magic is akin to taking away their soul. To do so would require corrupting or even destroying one’s own soul, the action is so… _cursed_.” Aang shuddered. “A lot of the Chosen One’s power comes from their powerful connection to the magic of the world—and that between worlds—” Korra wondered if he meant to say ‘worlds’ “—certainly, but above all else, one thing: their indestructible soul. Only the Chosen One’s soul can withstand the absolute, sheer agony of stripping another being of their magic.”

Yakone processed this information wordlessly. The look on his face was unfathomable, and Korra knew she wasn’t the only one unsettled by his silence.

(The shouting was close enough now that Korra could make out what the speaker was saying—was that—was that her name being called?)

Aang fiddled with his thumbs nervously for a few moments before glancing at Yakone.

“Thoughts?” he asked at last.  

Yakone blinked rapidly. He looked as though he’d just returned to earth from another dimension. He glanced at Aang expressionlessly.

“I was just thinking if there was a way to make you stronger, sir.”

Aang stared. “Make me _stronger_?”

It wasn’t that he was offended—no, his voice was free of affront or reproach. Rather, he seemed shocked that someone was insinuating that the most powerful being in the wizarding world needed to become _stronger._

“Don’t misunderstand,” Yakone echoed, in a chilling imitation of his headmaster. “I’m not saying you’re weak, sir. I’m just trying to think if there was a way for you to take away magic without feeling pain—to do so in a way that doesn’t limit you to one person at a time—to do so without being limited at all.”

It was a natural question—anyone would be curious. A simple inquiry, speckled with an almost childlike innocence.

But Korra knew there was nothing innocent about the question.

Aang looked startled. Then, unsure.

He studied Yakone, who was busy toying with his shoelaces again, doubtfully. There was a distant, wistful look in his eyes, almost as if Aang were trying to wish something unconceivable into reality.

Korra knew the feeling.

Finally, Aang sighed.

“I suppose there is a way.”

Korra’s eyes widened.

_No—no, surely he wouldn’t—_

“There is, sir?”

Yakone’s eyes had lit up with more emotion than Korra had seen throughout the entire memory. He was leaning forward eagerly now, leaning towards Aang with a hungry sort of desperation that made Korra want to flinch away.

A long silence.

Aang nodded hesitantly.

“What is it, sir? Err, that is, if you don’t mind me asking,” Yakone breathed.

It was the first time Korra had heard him stumble over his words—which otherwise seemed so precise and calculated—the first time he’d been so ensnared with emotion that he couldn’t contain himself.

(Somewhere in the distance—no, close by—“KORRA! KORRA!”)

It was one of those moments where Korra knew something was going to happen—that it was inexorably, inevitably going to happen, no matter how hard she tried to interfere, because it _had_ happened, it’d already _happened_. It was one of those things that, if it hadn’t happened, the fabric of history would’ve been altered irrevocably, and there was nothing Korra could do to prevent it now.

“It would be possible for me to do so, to be limitless,” Aang began, slowly, uncertainly—

Korra gasped—

_No—no, don’t tell him—_

“—if I used my Spirit Stone.”

Yakone’s face went completely blank.

“Your…Spirit Stone, sir?”

But something was wrong.

If this memory was in the past—if it was before Yakone’s trial—then why—why did Aang look _older_?

“KORRA! KORRA—GET OUT OF THERE—”

When Korra resurfaced, Tenzin was panting, one hand on her shoulder, eyes wide with alarm.

Behind him, Aang’s portrait was empty.


	23. Lessons with the Headmaster Pt. II

Korra left Tenzin’s office deliberating the meaning behind his parting words.

_“Oh—do send Ms. Sato to my office when you see her. I need to have a word with her.”_

He’d reassured Korra it had nothing to do with Asami’s former allegiance, but that did little to ease the tightening knot in her stomach.

 _Hopefully it’s just…administrative stuff or something,_ Korra reassured herself (tried to) as she made her way to the Quidditch field.

She was mindful of the aurors’ gazes as she passed them but couldn’t bring herself to care. Technically, Korra was signing herself up for another detention traveling without a partner, but she wondered if it really mattered with all the attention she was getting.

“That’s her!”

“Wicked!”

“I have Defense Against the Dark Arts with her! She’s bloody brilliant!”

“D’you think I have a shot with her?”

“I don’t think she’s into boys…”

“I AM TOO INTO BOYS!” Korra bellowed, turning on her heel.

The speakers—two fourth year Hufflepuffs—leapt about a foot into the air, flinched backwards, tripped over each other, and landed in a jumbled mess.  

Korra grinned sheepishly at the small crowd of admirers that’d been tailing her from the Headmaster’s Office. They were all fourth or fifth years, now staring at her wide-eyed.

Cursing under her breath, Korra darted out of the Entrance Hall, pulling her hood down so tightly that only her lips were visible. This was the second instance of such rash behavior.

She’d been in such a hurry to inform her friends about her findings that she’d completely disregarded Tenzin, who, believing it was due to her shock at being contacted by Aang, dismissed her without protest. Then again, he’d seemed rather distracted himself…

_“Sir—I—I have to go,” Korra insisted, trying to duck around Tenzin._

_“Slow down, Korra—what happened?” Tenzin demanded. “Why were you looking through the Pensieve?”_

_“I—I saw—Aang’s memories,” Korra managed to splutter out. “I talked to Aang—I mean, well, he didn’t really talk, but he told me what to do—sorry, sir I really—”_

_Tenzin froze._

_After a long silence (during which, Korra fidgeted impatiently), he inquired in a barely audible voice, “You…talked to my father?”_

_Korra paused. Studied Tenzin, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost._

_“Yes, sir,” she confirmed._

_Tenzin’s eyes began watering._

_“Oh…”_

_Korra was distinctly uncomfortable—the way one was when a grownup cried, when you didn’t quite know what to say or where to look. Tenzin had never shown any sign of vulnerability before, and Korra, despite her nurturing nature, found herself poorly equipped to handle this predicament._

_Tenzin cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Did he…err…did he say anything about m-me?”_

_He wasn’t looking at Korra—but it felt more like he_ couldn’t.

_Korra hesitated. Resigning herself to honesty, she shook her head._

_Tenzin looked crestfallen._

_“Right. No—that’s right, of course, why would he…” he trailed off._

_He didn’t seem to have realized that he had, for he continued gazing into the distance, seemingly having had forgotten—no, now completely unaware of Korra’s presence altogether._

_“Err…sir?” Korra chanced. “May I be excused?”_

_Tenzin blinked rapidly. “Oh—yes, why don’t you run along, Korra. You seem to be shaken up by this turn of events, let’s talk over the weekend…”_

Korra was left to wonder who was really shaken up. 

By the time she made it onto the field, the spectators had dissipated, half the team had changed back into their robes, and the twins were cleaning up. She spotted her friends gathered near the stands: Bolin, gesturing emphatically, Asami, half-listening—she looked worried—and Mako—

Mako was frowning.

“There you are.”

Bolin and Asami followed Mako’s line of sight; their faces lit up immediately. (Korra wasn’t sure if she was imagining it but Asami looked relieved.)

“You missed practice,” Mako continued, scowling, as Korra neared them. “The match is _tomorrow_.”

“Sorry, detention—but—” Korra began urgently.

“Detention? For what?” Bolin cut her off.

Korra sighed exasperatedly.

“I was up after curfew. Anyway—”

Mako deadpanned.

“You’re a—”

“Yeah, yeah, a prefect, I know—didn’t have my badge on, all right?” Korra snapped. The brothers flinched. Sighing, she explained, “Look, it was the night Asami and I—” she glanced around surreptitiously “—were spying on Hiroshi and Amon. We almost got caught, so I took the fall since it would be bad if Hiroshi figured out Asami was spying on him.”

A look of remorse shot across Asami’s face. She masked it quickly, but there was no mistaking the underlying shame.

Korra paused, eyes glued to the heiress. Then, realizing she’d been quiet for too long, finished hastily, “It just completely slipped my mind with everything that happened over Christmas, and Toza happened to catch me today.”

Of course, Bolin—as good-natured as ever—accepted this explanation readily. Mako was unimpressed.

“You couldn’t have pushed it back _two_ more days?” he griped.

Korra glared at him, but before she could say anything—

“It’s just a game, Mako. You should be grateful that Korra is well enough to play at all,” Asami shot back coldly.

Everyone was taken aback by the unexpected—on Asami’s part, entirely unprecedented–outburst.

Korra lowered her gaze, thankful, before stealing a bashful glance at Asami.

Mako blinked rapidly, as though that hadn’t occurred to him.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Err…” he glanced at Korra’s foot awkwardly. “Well done.”

Asami pinched the bridge of her nose.

Bolin snorted.

“Err…anyway,” Korra continued, “something—well, a lot of somethings happened during detention, it can’t wait—”

“I believe practice is over,” someone carped from behind them.

The quartet turned to find Madam Xu glowering down at them, easily towering over even Mako, muscled up to the stupid whistle that lay provocatively on her fat lips.

“You troublemakers would do best to get going now. Wouldn’t want to miss evening roll call,” Madam Xu sneered, as usual, eyes lingering on Korra a moment longer than necessary.

Korra’s lip curled, but she was forced to relent after Mako shook his head.

‘Focus on the match,’ his frown seemed to say.

So, without further ceremony, the quartet found themselves, as a matter of fact, missing evening roll call and gathered in the library. There was a point in time where the mere prospect of such an infraction would cause newly appointed Head Boy Mako to blow a gasket; Korra wondered when he’d changed—or perhaps he was too jaded now—as he held the library door open for the other three.

“So?” the boy in question pressed after a quick scan of their surroundings.

Korra recounted the haphazard, inscrutable events of the last hour, to a just as puzzled and restless audience. When she’d finished, Mako and Asami looked as grave as ever, while Bolin looked something like a baby seal that was seeing sunlight for the very first time.

“What does that even mean?” he wondered aloud.

Korra shook her head.

Then, she gritted her teeth. “I thought figuring out the rest of the prophecy would help…but I’m more confused than ever.”  

Admittedly, the largest toll over the past hour hadn’t come from the weight of carrying this newfound knowledge—it’d come from the crushing, inexorable realization that the rest of the prophecy was not, in fact, a single-handed panacea to their plights, but another source of enigma. Perhaps it was Korra’s own fault for not learning her lesson with the Mirror of Erised, but she, like the others, had placed a great deal of significance on (had been utterly and entirely dependent on) the second half of the prophecy, had counted on it being the cure to this never-ending ailment. Everything, essentially, had been hinging on the fact.

At this point, Korra was ready to—

Asami reached out and squeezed Korra’s forearm. “Hey, don’t give up yet—let’s take some time to process all this.” She smiled and added gently, “Together.”

Korra felt her face soften, despite herself, and the longer she gazed at Asami, the more she felt her frustration waning…

Then, Mako’s gaze settled on Korra’s wrist, and the moment died out completely.

_Oh no—_

His gaze darted to Asami’s next.

_Shit—_

Mako’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you _wearing_?” he demanded.

“Friendship bracelets,” Korra and Asami said at the same time.

They glanced at each other before looking away quickly. Asami dropped her hand.

Mako stared. He gazed at Korra, then Asami, unconvinced, before frowning.

“What’s going on with you two?”

Silence.

Truthfully, Korra had wondered that herself.

They were at an odd place. Somehow, more comfortable, more intimate with one another—and yet, something was off, somewhere. There was something unspoken, something lodged in their throats that neither seemed to be able to vocalize.

They’d been rather awkward with one another over break—Korra didn’t know why, suspected it had something to do with the night out on the balcony. She couldn’t remember what’d happened, what they’d talked about—had too much to drink, and a dreadful hangover and a half-formed foot to nurse for the rest of the week. The tension had ebbed away with time, with classes, with having to process the rapidly changing canvas of affairs ranging from Amon’s next move to Tarrlok’s whereabouts to Hiroshi’s, to Hogwarts’ crumbling reputation and the instability of the wizarding world at large—but Korra couldn’t help but feel that there was something important she couldn’t recall, something that would explain away this stubborn, unyielding unease.

(She couldn’t remember.)

“Can we please just get back to the prophecy?” Bolin interrupted, sliding down in his seat. Korra couldn’t decide if he looked more exasperated or exhausted at this point.

“That’s a good idea!” Asami squeaked.

Mako didn’t look entirely appeased but he seemed to drop the matter for now as he turned to Korra, hand outstretched. “Fine. You said you wrote down what the Sorting Hat told you, right?”

Relieved, Korra nodded.

“And we can trust this…hat?” Asami’s gaze was fixated on the scrap of parchment Korra had handed Mako.

“Don’t worry, the Sorting Hat is one of Godric Gryffindor’s creations,” Mako reassured her. “Lesser known, but…” he trailed off as he started reading.

Meanwhile, Korra was trying to remember what else the Sorting Hat had said, something about her House…

She jumped when Mako—who finished reading before anyone else—broke the silence.

“I think we can safely make the assumption that ‘he’ is Aang, since it’s _his_ prophecy. And, given what we pieced together from the first half, I don’t think we have any other leads on who his ‘Chosen’ could be besides you.” He paused to gaze meaningfully at Korra, who rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. “That being said, I can’t deduce what any of these items could be—besides the gem, I’m guessing that’s the stone—or what he chose you for, other than an inheritance, apparently.”

“And he left me without any such ‘wisdom,’” Korra grouched, rubbing her forehead. “Dumped all that rubbish on me without explaining any of it and then ‘vanished’ again. Ugh—”

“Calm down,” Asami urged, touching Korra’s shoulder. “We won’t solve anything angry.”

“Fine—whatever,” Korra sighed, burying her face in her hands.

(“ _What?_ That never works when I say it,” Mako complained to Bolin, who looked like he was about to run out of the library screaming.)

“How about you tell us what triggered the hat in the first place?” Asami continued as though Mako hadn’t spoken, rubbing Korra’s shoulder soothingly.

“Well, it called me ‘Chosen One’ so I panicked because I thought it was Amon—and then it called him ‘the one my fate is tied with’ before launching off into the prophecy…”

Her companions nodded sympathetically.

A pause.

The reprieve was only temporary; something else occurred to Korra, and her hand instantly curled back into a fist.

“But the prophecy doesn’t even say anything about Amon, or how or why our ‘fates are tied,’ or—or—IT DOESN’T EVEN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT _ME_!” she roared, slamming her fist on the table.

“OI—SHUT UP!”

“YOU SHUT UP!” Korra shouted back.

Wan Shi Tong looked dumbfounded. Blinking, he cleared his throat, smoothened his robes importantly, tripped over nothing, and then bustled on, clearly unaffected.

Korra’s companions, sensing her rising and characteristically ungovernable temper, exchanged worried glances. They gazed at one other apprehensively, as though egging each other on, hoping someone would be brave enough to try and console Korra next.

‘You do it,’ Bolin mouthed to Asami, who shrugged helplessly.

(Korra was busy cursing under her breath, unleashing her wrath on an unsuspecting quill.)

‘I tried,’ Asami protested.

‘So did I!’ Bolin shot back.

A beat.

Mako looked as if someone had stolen his candy.

“Well, Aang—Aang _did_ show you his memories,” he piped up at last (after a lot of mute protesting). He threw a desperate look at the other two, as though afraid Korra would lash out at him for speaking at all.

“Err, yeah—that’s wisdom!” Bolin added unhelpfully.

Korra deadpanned.

“Why don’t we focus on what we can gather from his memories for now?” Asami tried, expressing the unspoken suggestion much more eloquently than either of her companions. “We can revisit the prophecy later.”

“Okay,” Korra conceded, still scowling. She ran a hand through her hair before sitting up straighter. “Maybe we can start by focusing on the fact that Aang taught Yakone how to take away magic.”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

“Y-Yakone? The c-crime lord?” Bolin stuttered. “The one he just stripped of magic?”

Korra blinked at her companions, who stared at her as though this was brand new information.

“That boy. From the second memory,” Korra continued, frowning. “The student from the Wizarding Tribe—it has to be Yakone, right? Who else could it be? My dad and uncle were supposed to be the first Wizarding Tribe students at Hogwarts, which was well after Yakone’s reign—and that boy obviously wasn’t one of them. If there was another student before, it must’ve been kept secret for a reason, right?”

Naturally, Mako recovered first.

“That’s fair, but Yakone never showed signs of being able to take away magic,” he pointed out.

Korra frowned.

_He’s not wrong…_

A beat.

_Then who did I see with Aang?_

Another uneasy silence.

“D’you think Yakone and Amon knew each other?” Bolin suggested after a moment.

“That doesn’t make sense—Amon is too young to have had any sort of collusion or real interaction with Yakone,” Asami replied before Korra could stop her.

The silence that followed was deafening.

_Fuck._

“How do you…know that?” Mako inquired at last, raising an eyebrow.

Asami’s eyes widened.

Korra’s mouth went dry.

_No, not that—_

“She’s probably just guessing,” she said a little too quickly. “He, err…seems young.”

_Brilliant._

Asami, who’d composed herself much more swiftly than Korra, agreed in an even voice, “Yeah, I’m just trying to rationalize here. I mean, if we’re going based off of when each of them rose to power, it’s about forty years apart.”

“We’re wizards,” Mako retorted just as evenly. “Forty years is less than a fourth of our life span. You know that.”

Both girls blanched.

Mako’s eyes darted between the two of them—first, uncertainly, then, suspiciously—it would only be a matter of time before—

Korra remembered something else.

“Besides, they’re polar opposites!” she rattled off frantically. “Yakone hates muggle-borns—Amon hates purebloods. There’s no way they could’ve worked together!” 

(There was something else there, too, just for a moment. Something obvious, something she should’ve realized but couldn’t. Nearby, a pair of steel-blue eyes watched her.)

Mako was giving Korra the same look she gave professors when they answered a question other than the one being asked.

“Anyway,” she carried on anxiously—a weak attempt at a diversion, “Aang said taking away magic is about controlling others’ aura—that it’s a cursed action, that it’s so painful it causes one’s soul to split or become corrupt, so only the Chosen One can handle it, since he—I mean, we, I suppose—has—have an indestructible soul,” Korra recited all in one breath.

Fortunately, Bolin took the bait.

“Hang on. Then how come…how come Amon can?” he asked in a voice just above a whisper. (Korra doubted the volume of his voice had anything to do with confidentiality.)

This seemed to finally deter Mako.

“Do you think it has to do with his connection to you?” he proposed, glancing at Korra. “I doubt it has anything to do with his _soul_ …”

There was an added layer of malice to that statement—an extra level of spite that Korra knew stemmed from lingering personal resentment.

She sighed.

“Dunno. Even if we are connected, I don’t think it’s like…some kind of…”

“USB transfer?” Bolin chirped.

Silence.

Korra and Mako stared at him in wait of an explanation.

“So, muggles have these little square-shaped techno gizmos—"

“Don’t worry about it,” Asami sighed, cutting him off. “But Korra’s probably right. Even if they’re bound by their wand cores, that connection is limited to their thoughts, feelings—Priori Incantatem—”

“What’s that?” Bolin interrupted.

“We’ve already gone over that, you dunce,” Mako groaned.

“We have?”

“Oh my god—"

Irritated, but otherwise resigned, Korra allowed her attention to drift while the brothers sorted out their unruly hormones. Her eyes glided over the tops of shelves, over Wan Shi Tong’s hunched figure, along the walls, until they met a pair of familiar steel-blue ones gazing down at her from a wanted poster—

_“But—as it turns out—the family brand of the Imperius Curse is more powerful than I believed. How curious.”_

It hit her then, like a stroke of lightning.

“WAIT!” Korra shouted.

Everyone jumped. (Wan Shi Tong didn’t even attempt to silence her this time.)

Korra felt like an imbecile. She felt like the fool who asked when the final was on the day of the final. Something about watching the brothers bicker had triggered something so significant, something so painstakingly obvious that Korra wanted to jinx herself for not realizing it sooner.

“Yakone—Yakone was notorious for his rendition of the Imperius Curse, right?” Korra began eagerly. Her companions’ expressions remained unchanged (bewildered, taken aback, slightly intimidated). “Who else do we know that can use the Imperius Curse well beyond the reach of ordinary magic?”

Comprehension dawned on Asami’s face at once.

“Tarrlok,” she spat.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS JUICY—”

Unfortunately, Bolin was not immune to Wan Shi Tong.

“Sorry, sorry…”

“He _is_ from the Northern Wizarding Tribe, too,” Asami continued, unfazed, voice like razors.

“No—it’s not just that,” Korra rushed on, “don’t you remember what he said to us in the chamber?”

Asami’s eyebrows furrowed.

Truly, the Sorting Hat hadn’t missed its mark—her eyes lit up with apprehension not a moment later.

“‘I used to resent him for this, but…I’m glad I had my father to teach me,’” Asami recited perfectly.

The brothers gaped in mute horror.

Meanwhile, Korra’s mind was racing a mile a minute—

 _Father—his father,_ Yakone _was his_ father. _That’s why Aang—_

Mako, as usual, recovered first, blinking rapidly. “So…you’re saying Tarrlok is Yakone’s son?”

Korra and Asami exchanged a troubled glance.

“It’s the best guess we have,” Asami concluded.

“That makes perfect sense,” Bolin chimed in. He turned to Korra. “The first memory you saw in November—it was about Tarrlok, wasn’t it?”

Korra nodded thoughtfully, then—

“Hang on. If Tarrlok can cast Yakone’s Imperius Curse, doesn’t that mean he has Horcruxes, too?”

“That’s not that important, right? It just tells us how he made the power stronger—and that he’s a terrible person, if we can even call him that,” Mako mused. Then, he raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re planning on killing him.”

“I wish,” Korra grumbled.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Asami said at the same time.

Mako’s lips twitched before his face darkened.

“That’s probably why he wants the stone, yeah? If he’s willing to split his soul for more dark magic, who’s to say what lengths he’s willing to go to for _limitless_ power…” he trailed off, deliberating.

Suddenly, Mako’s eyes widened in alarm.

“You don’t—you don’t think he wants to use the stone to _finish what his father started_ , do you?”

The blood drained from Asami’s face.

Korra immediately reached out to squeeze her hand reassuringly, but that didn’t alleviate the knot in her stomach.

A chill passed over the group, followed by a heavy silence nobody dared to break.

It made too much sense. Tarrlok’s task force, his blatant lack of empathy towards muggle-borns, his obsession with stopping Amon; Amon, who was charging towards the other extreme, both racing against each other with parallel aims—

(There was something in that parallelism here, something poignant, ardent, telling, too telling—)

Bolin was bold enough to speak first.

“Hang on. I thought only the Chosen One could use the Spirit Stone?”

It went off like a bomb.

_“I’ll need you to unseal the stone for me,” Tarrlok snickered._

“OH!”

Everyone jumped again.

“There’s one more thing I forgot to mention,” Korra explained breathlessly. “Tarrlok said he needed me to ‘unseal’ the stone for him when we caught up to him on Christmas.” All three of her companions sat up straighter. “Dunno what that means, but…” she exhaled deeply, “that’s probably what Amon wants me for, too.”

Mako looked stricken.

“What does ‘unsealing’ the stone entail?”

Korra shook her head. “No clue.”

Mako bit his lip grimly.

“So, for all we know, they might need to kill you in order to be able to use the stone…”

 _No, don’t worry—I’m pretty sure they need me alive because Asami the former Equalist said Amon doesn’t want to kill me,_ Korra thought, mostly to indulge herself.

What she said was, “Maybe.”

Disquiet loomed over the quartet as they were left to their own thoughts (none of which were productive, given each individual’s current personal interests and Bolin’s lack of thought altogether).

Several moments passed before any of them spoke again.

“Speaking of Tarrlok, what’ve the papers had to say about him?” Korra asked Bolin, the only member of their group who still retained any ounce of interest in the media.

Bolin snorted—tried to compose himself—failed—and then started outright giggling.

Everyone raised an eyebrow.

“It’d better be something good if you’re this chuffed about it,” Korra commented, second eyebrow joining the first.

“It won’t be—he’s easily amused,” Mako interjected.

More snickering.

Finally—

“They said he tried to steal the sword of Godric Gryffindor,” Bolin managed to squeeze out in between laughs.

Korra couldn’t contain herself.

“What? _That_ ruddy old museum display?” Korra sneered. “It must be what—a thousand years old? That bloody fossil. I just saw it—it’s still hanging in Tenzin’s office.”

“Shut up, someone might hear you,” Bolin shot back before both of them burst into laughter.

It was only after a few moments that they noticed Asami and Mako hadn’t joined in.

Rather, they were both deadpanning.

“What?” Korra and Bolin demanded in unison.

“You two geniuses realize that that ‘bloody fossil’ is one of the most powerful magical artefacts in existence, right?” Mako said slowly, as if talking to a child.

Korra scowled, but Asami nodded in agreement before she could even formulate a reply.

“Aang the Chosen used it to destroy the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes—uh, and possibly Yakone’s, I guess,” the heiress supplied.

Korra and Bolin exchanged a look.

Clearing her throat, Korra pressed (sheepishly, self-consciously), “What makes that old thing so powerful?”

“It’s made of Goblin silver,” Mako replied matter-of-factly.

Korra and Bolin blinked.

“What he means,” Asami sighed “is that it’s invincible, basically. Goblin silver—goblin armor—is known to be indestructible. The weapons they make, by extension, are invincible. Moreover, it only absorbs substances that strengthen it, not harm it—so whatever it’s exposed to, it can use to its advantage basically. For example, Aang used it on a Basilisk—and then used the Basilisk’s venom to destroy Horcruxes.”  

“Wicked! I always thought Goblin silver was so expensive because you never have to clean it,” Bolin grinned.

Mako exhaled deeply.

Then, Bolin added more solemnly, “Anyway, Tarrlok was spotted in France earlier this week. Nobody knows what he’s up to—whether he’s trying to steal something, or find something, or…”

He let the statement hang, but Korra wished he hadn’t, because it dangled there like a time bomb above their heads, daunting—inexplicably heavier with the newfound revelation—and no one knew how to defuse it.

The quartet glanced at each other uneasily.

A stillness leaden with ineffable distress.

Then—

Their discussion came to an abrupt halt when students began pouring into the library—evening roll call was over.

They _had_ conducted research in a populated library in the past, but that was before Korra’s newfound popularity.

“I can’t focus with all those stupid fourth years ogling Korra,” Mako grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Korra blinked. She glanced over her shoulder to confirm that, as a matter of fact, there was a cluster of fourth year girls gawking at her from behind a shelf. They quickly ducked out of the way, giggling incessantly.

“They have good taste,” Korra joked.

Bolin laughed, but to Korra’s bemusement, Asami looked just as irritated as Mako.

Before she could ask—

“Oh my gosh, I’m, like, so sorry to intrude, but are you, like, Korra of the Southern Wizarding Tribe? Because, I’m like, totally a huge fan!”

_Are you, like, a knockoff American? Because you, like, totally sound like it!_

“Err…yeah, that’s—that’s me,” Korra confirmed, somewhat reluctantly.

The speaker—a sixth year Slytherin Korra didn’t recognize—squealed and turned to her friends—another gaggle of sixth years.

“I told you it was her!”

“Oh my gosh!”

“She’s _so_ cool!”

“You saved Hogwarts!”

“Uh, saved it, _twice_!”

Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “I definitely can’t take credit for all that.” A pause. “ _Any_ of that, actually. I had help,” she murmured with a coy glance at Asami.

Asami, who looked like she was about to throw up all over the table, jumped at the sudden attention; all eyes—including the ones behind shelves—shot to her.

“Asami helped me with both of those. No, honestly—she did all the work, I just watched.” Korra’s face softened. She had to look away as she added timidly, “She’s one of the most talented witches I know.”

Scarlet spread across Asami’s cheeks like a meadow in bloom. She lowered her eyes bashfully, raven kissing rose.

Of course, Korra’s admirers weren’t so easy to budge.

They glanced at each other first, annoyed, then at Korra, uncertainly, then at Asami, hostilely.

“Hey, c’mon,” Bolin chimed in disapprovingly. “You can’t believe everything you hear about someone. There’s no way Asami is an Equalist, all right? She’s just a victim of the press.” 

Asami’s expression flickered. When Korra looked at her again, it’d settled somewhere between resigned and ashamed. 

Korra’s admirers looked skeptical. “Really?”

Then, under their breath—

“How could Hiroshi Sato’s daughter _not_ be an Equalist?”

Mako’s jaw clenched.

“Because she’s moral and just, because she gives a damn about people!” he snapped, leaping to his feet. “She cares about the fate of humanity—about the fate of the _world_ —more than she cares about herself. Even when we doubt her. Even when we don’t trust her.” He paused, glanced back at Asami. There was a hint of apology in his eyes, a trace of pain in his voice. “Even when we don’t deserve her.” 

Asami looked stunned.

Korra shared the sentiment.

The moment was brief—

“Now get lost if you don’t want detention!” Mako snarled, turning on the girls with fire in his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right! Ten points from Slytherin, hoodlums!” Bolin joined in, shaking a fist at the retreating sixth years.

Mako sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

“Just evening the playing field for tomorrow,” Bolin grinned, entirely undeterred.

He clapped his brother heartily on the shoulder; Mako refused to resurface from behind his hand.

“Mako?”

Mako’s head shot up at the sound of Asami’s voice. He looked startled that she was speaking directly to him, and then embarrassed.

Fortunately for him, Asami only said, “Thanks, Mako. I didn’t expect that from you.”

Mako stole a glance at the heiress from the corner of his eyes, as though suspicious she might express more affection. When she didn’t, he sighed in relief.

“No problem,” he muttered, cheeks burning.

It would’ve been a touching moment—

If Korra hadn’t caught sight of the gnawing, nauseating guilt that shot across Asami’s face, lingered there resentfully, in the gaps of her lashes, the corners of her eyes—alongside an unshakable, resigned sense of dread for the future.

Thankfully, Mako hadn’t noticed.

“Err,” he glanced around, “I think we have to wrap up for today. There’s no way we can keep going like this…”

The library was now brimming with students, half there to cram material before dinner, half to, as Mako put it, ‘ogle Korra.’

Korra sighed in concession.

“Yeah, you’re right…we can figure this out another time, I suppose. I don’t know that we’re mentally equipped to deal with this today, anyway.”

“Plus, I want you fed, showered, and in bed by nine p.m. We have a game to win tomorrow…”

(To Korra’s chagrin, a number of students followed them out of the library.)

Korra fell into step with Mako, as he was insistent on catching her up on everything she’d missed during practice right that instant, while Bolin and Asami trailed behind.

“You should see the Raiko memes on TikTok,” Bolin was telling Asami.

Asami raised an eyebrow. “How do TikTok users know about Raiko?”

“Oh, there’s all kinds of muggle-born and half-blood communities on social media! I found Wizards Anonymous, Bicurious Half-Bloods—”

“Bolin, I don’t think that’s what you think it is…”

Meanwhile—

“By the way, have you, err…” Korra glanced cautiously over her shoulder at her admirers before lowering her voice, “have you had any visions since the riots?”

Mako shook his head. However, before he could say anything—

“Hold on.”

They both turned.

Asami’s eyes were darting between them. “ _You_ ’ve had visions?”

(Her voice sounded strangely accusatory.)

Mako rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Only once. I had one the same night Korra had her first one—then, nothing.”

“How?” Asami pressed, frowning.

Bolin launched off animatedly, “Well, based on what we know about Legilimency—”

Then, something seemed to occur to him, and he stopped talking abruptly. Blinking, he glanced at Asami, then Korra, then Mako, then back at Korra before his eyes widened.

Clearing his throat, Bolin addressed the ceiling, “Well, since…err…since…Mako and Korra are…err…well…”

Things had suddenly grown painfully awkward. There was something very uncomfortable about all this; something stifling in the air, something in Korra’s lungs, and she didn’t know where to look.

 “Since they’re…well, close, Amon can manipulate Korra by accessing the minds of those she has strong emotional bonds with,” Bolin finished carefully.

The explanation did little to assuage Asami’s apparent…discontent. In fact, she only looked further aggravated.

“Since they’re ‘ _close_ ’?” Asami repeated, eyes narrowing.

Korra didn’t understand why she felt like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. She didn’t understand the growing smirk on Mako’s face, or the consequent glare on Asami’s.

However, she didn’t get too much time to dwell on it, for—

“WAIT—HANG ON! THAT’S IT! THAT’S HOW WE’LL FIGURE OUT HOW TO STOP AMON!”

All three turned back to Bolin, who was out of breath, wide-eyed, running his hands through his hair wildly—all but vibrating with exhilaration.

They glanced at each other in bemusement.

“Err…care to explain?” Mako probed.

Bolin seized Korra by the shoulders and began rattling her. “You—you’ve closed your mind off to him, haven’t you? All these months, you’ve been using Occlumency.”

“Err—yeah—” Korra managed to affirm in between periodic shakes.

“Don’t use Occlumency tonight!” Bolin cried, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Then, it clicked.

It was.

“You’re right!” Korra exclaimed. “If I don’t use Occlumency, I might have a vision for whatever he’s planning next! With my Legilimency training, I might even be able to see into _his_ mind and get some of the answers we’re looking for!”

“YASSSS, QUEEN!”

Asami and Mako watched as Korra and Bolin, quite literally, took turns spinning each other in the air.

“Can we go now?” Mako interrupted once he’d lost his patience.

(He’d lasted an impressive minute.)

“Sure—oh…”

Korra’s joy, insatiable and boundless moments earlier, evaporated abruptly. There was something she’d forgotten, something she had to do, no matter how much she didn’t want to.

_It’s just administrative stuff. It’s just administrative stuff._

Korra bit her lip and turned to Asami, who was gazing at her in wait of an explanation.

“Tenzin wanted to talk to you...”

               

* * *

               

The walk to the Headmaster’s Office was longer than any of her darkest days.

It’d been longer, once—on the way to the Room of Requirement. Mako and Bolin had insisted she need not come.

Sometimes, she wished she hadn’t. 

She tried not to let her mind wander.

Asami glanced sideways at her companion.

Outside of a brief farewell to the brothers (who didn’t—no, couldn’t possibly fathom the severity of this appointment), Korra hadn’t spoken at all since announcing she’d be the one to escort Asami.

Asami sighed.

She knew Korra didn’t remember.

She’d known the moment she’d woken up on New Year’s Day with bated breath—only to see the look of sheer ingenuousness (and lingering somnolence) that clung to Korra’s delicate face. Part of her was relieved—she’d nearly exposed months and months of something she’d desperately wished wasn’t true, something she’d been running from her entire life, something she’d never been able to come to terms with—

Something that, after meeting Korra, became clear was undeniably, irrevocably part of her identity.

It was better this way, Asami tried to tell herself. After all, if Korra remembered—

How would the way Korra looked at her change?

And what would that do to _her_?

Asami exhaled deeply, wringing her hands together.

“You all right?” Korra asked gently—immediately.

It was always like that with Korra. It was as if she could sense the change in Asami’s mood the way a sailor read the change in currents. (Well, she could verify directly anytime she wanted, to Asami’s chagrin.) It was always immediate, and almost always exactly what Asami needed.

 _More Chosen One magic?_ Asami joked to herself as she turned to Korra.

(No, it was just Korra’s magic—and Asami was absolutely enchanted.)

“Nervous,” Asami admitted, wringing her hands together again.

It was calming—the feeling of her thumbpads running over one another—and then uncalming—why did she always have to do it?

Then Korra stopped, took her hands between her own, and Asami forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t be,” Korra said softly. Her eyes were cool—glittering cerulean—and yet, they always radiated with warmth. “You know Tenzin.”

Asami nodded hesitantly.

Out of all the professors at Hogwarts, the only one who’d been consistently benevolent to her was Tenzin.

(And Suyin Beifong, to an extent, but that relationship was much more impersonal. Tenzin was like the grandfather who invited you onto his porch to tell you stories; Suyin was the neighborhood wine aunt.)

Lin Beifong, on the other hand, had extended a particularly nasty unwelcome from the moment they’d made eye contact. In fact, it was Tenzin who’d rescued Asami from her wrath following the incident over Christmas break…

Asami sorely hoped Lin would not be present today.

“It’s probably about…” she trailed off, grip on Korra’s hands tightening unconsciously.

Panic flickered on Korra’s face—then it was gone. But it wasn’t the kind of panic when you were worried about someone, it was the kind of panic when you knew something someone didn’t and didn’t know how to tell them.

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“I-I’m sure it’s n-nothing,” Korra stuttered convincingly.

Asami rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Heavy sarcasm, light teasing.

 _She’s lucky I can’t read_ her _mind._ A beat. _Maybe_ I’m _lucky I can’t…_

(Asami was terrified of what she’d find.)

“Let’s keep going,” she urged, in spite of herself, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Korra didn’t look fooled, but she allowed Asami to tug her along without protest. (Asami couldn’t bring herself to let go of both hands.)

Part of Asami was resigned to whatever might happen. Part of her was tired—tired of lying, tired of hiding—and at least all of her was sick of what she’d done. Who she’d been. Part of her wanted to face the consequences—just so she could breathe.

The other part of her—

The other part of her couldn’t bear to be away from Korra.

And that was the undeniable, inevitable, inexorable consequence that would be upon them, someday. Asami couldn’t run from this forever. And the moment she stopped running—

“We’re here,” Korra announced, in an uncharacteristically deflated voice.

Asami tilted her head.

“Hogwarts really loves its passwords and riddles, doesn’t it?”

They’d come to an abrupt halt before a statue of a gargoyle. After spending six months at the institution, Asami would be foolish to not know what was coming next. 

“Egg custard tart,” Korra recited.

To Asami’s immense amusement, the gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside.

“It’s his favorite,” Korra explained, catching sight of the look on Asami’s face.

“That’s adorable,” Asami chuckled.

The wall behind the gargoyle parted to reveal a smooth, gliding stairwell that spiraled upwards noiselessly.

It reminded Asami of an escalator.

She hadn’t seen one since she was six.

A beat.

Silence.

It was the kind that accompanied the presage of monumental change—the kind where you didn’t know if you’d see each other again. And if you did, you didn’t know whether things would be the same.

It hung over them like a cloud, stubborn, insistent, like a fog only they could see—because really, only they knew.

They were both optimistic—that much Asami could gather. They were nervous, restless, but not hopeless. And maybe that was enough.

Asami gazed at Korra, who was looking at her dismally, anxiously, still in her Quidditch uniform from a practice she’d never attended, strands of hair sticking out in odd places. Korra, who was looking at Asami with more affection and concern than anyone had expressed for her in over ten years.

 _You changed my life,_ Asami wanted to say. _You_ gave _me a life._

And the broken—

_I love you._

What she said was—

“I’ll see you at dinner?”

Korra shook her head.

Asami’s face fell—

“I’ll walk you to dinner.”

Korra’s smile was like the sun, and even the coldest, darkest parts of Asami were warm.

She watched Korra walk away, one hand over her chest, wondering how a simple-minded girl from the Southern Wizarding Tribe could string her along, make her feel like she was falling through an abyss one moment and then riding the sky the next.

Asami willed herself to breathe.

 _I’ll see you again,_ she told herself.

(She didn’t know if she believed it.)

When the stairs had stopped ascending, Asami reached out and rapped the knocker curtly. (It was in the shape of a griffin, she noted absentmindedly.)

There was a long pause, during which, Asami was left to wonder if Tenzin had forgotten—or if he was in the office at all. Then, the door flew open, and Asami found herself face to face with the new Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted politely, as she did every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning, in a perfect American accent. “You wanted to see me?”

Asami sounded much calmer than she felt, looked more composed than she was. It was muscle memory at this point. Smile and wave, smile and wave, let the cameras flash, smile and wave…

Tenzin’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, glad you could join me, Ms. Sato. Please, come in…”

 _He looks exhausted_ , Asami thought to herself.

(She was numb.)

She took a moment to examine the office as Tenzin shut the door behind her. Asami had never been in the Headmaster’s Office before—hadn’t been able to figure out the password when Raiko was in power and lost interest once she’d abandoned the Equalist cause.

Her lips twitched upwards in a gesture of self-deprecating humor.

_Mission accomplished._

The office was remarkably circular, quaint, and bustling with magical life. It was unexpectedly hospitable, lively—reminded her of her mother’s brewery from the old manor. Along the walls lay ornate frames with moving portraits of witches and wizards—old headmasters and headmistresses, Asami supposed—peacefully asleep. Only one was empty—the one right behind Tenzin’s desk. Were Raiko not alive and generally abhorred, Asami assumed that would be where his portrait would hang.

But she knew better.

 _This must be where Korra talked to Aang,_ Asami mused.

Then, her eyes settled on the fraying, battered pointed hat sitting on a shelf just behind a claw-footed desk.

Asami frowned.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Mako’s word—it was more that she couldn’t shake the memory of her own Sorting from her mind.

_“Oh my…your mind is full of all kinds of poison, isn’t it?”_

_Asami looked around wildly—but nobody had spoken. All eyes were on her._

_“It’s me, dear,” a voice just beside her ear giggled. “Only you can hear me.”_

Oh. I see.

_“Conflicted, aren’t you?” the Sorting Hat continued in a voice that sounded oddly like a simper. “The fate of the world? Or the will of your father?”_

_Asami fought to keep her face straight._

Your job is to Sort me, not judge me. Do your job.

 _“Well, I have to do a_ bit _of judging to see where you belong…” the Sorting Hat murmured, tone just shy of derisive. “Let’s see here…your aims suggest Slytherin but…there’s no heart there, is there?”_

_Asami’s jaw clenched._

I’m firmly committed to the Equal—

 _“Yes, yes, of course you are,” the Sorting Hat drawled as though she hadn’t spoken at all. It snickered. “Keep telling yourself that, dear. Anyway…you_ do _have the heart of a Hufflepuff.”_

_Asami nearly fell off the stool._

_Me_? You’ve got to be joking—

_“You’re much kinder, much more loyal and tenacious than you think, sweetheart,” the Sorting Hat cut her off again. “Remember, the worst kind of poison is self-prejudice. Forgive yourself for what you’ve done. You can do better.”_

I doubt it, _Asami thought forlornly._

_“Hmm…you’d be an excellent fit for Gryffindor.”_

_Asami sat up straighter. Her eyes slid sideways—yes, she was right. The Chosen One sat there amongst the sea of red and gold, watching her with the same anticipation as everyone else._

_“Driven, I see…for the wrong reasons. Sliding back over to Slytherin.”_

Just hurry up and Sort me. I’ve been here longer than anyone else, _Asami thought impatiently._

_“You’re quite imbalanced, young witch. I see great things in your future, but you’ve yet to realize them…yet to realize your own potential. However, the one quality that stands true amongst all fronts for you: your mind. Better be—”_

_“RAVENCLAW!” the Sorting Hat bellowed to thunderous applause._

_Asami stumbled off to the table just beside the Chosen One’s, feeling very lost and very vulnerable._

“Would you like some tea, Asami?”

Asami was so shocked that Tenzin had referred to her on a first name basis that she forgot to reply. It was only when Tenzin raised his eyebrows at her that she repeated dumbly, “Tea?”

“Tea,” he echoed cheerfully. When Asami continued staring at him wordlessly, he shrugged and turned back to the tea set on his desk. “Suit yourself. I won’t be able to make it to dinner if I don’t have any caffeine.”

Asami watched Tenzin place his wand on the tea pot; where any other wizard would’ve muttered a simple Heating Spell, Tenzin said nothing, concentrating intently. After a few moments, the water began boiling.

She was strangely reminded of her mother.

“Sorry sir, could I actually—?”

“Of course,” Tenzin chuckled. “I figured.”

When he turned to face her again, he was holding two cups. One of them was a simple Earl Grey, the other—

“Bael fruit, right?”

Asami blinked.

“Uh…right.”

_How did he know?_

Bael fruit tea was Asami’s absolute favorite. Certainly, tea was a staple of England—but Asami had only ever gotten to enjoy bael fruit when her mother would return from business trips to Thailand. She’d searched shops, muggle and magical alike, all over the country—even Scotland, once—for years but had come up empty-handed.

Still puzzled, Asami accepted the cup and took a seat across from the Headmaster.

A beat.

_Well, he hasn’t tried to arrest me yet…hopefully this isn’t poisoned._

When Asami lowered her cup, Tenzin was looking at her very oddly. No, it wasn’t odd, it was just unexpected.

He was looking at her warmly, wistfully, as though he were a distant relative who’d finally gotten to meet the child he’d been hearing so much about. He looked…proud?

 _Of me?_ Asami wondered, baffled.

She thought of the gold cauldron laying amongst her belongings.

“I’m sure you’ve gathered that I didn’t just invite you here for tea,” Tenzin said after a moment, eyes twinkling.

Asami always found it intriguing that, despite his otherwise Tibetan appearance, Tenzin’s eyes were bright blue—an unmistakable trait of the Wizarding Tribes.

“A real tragedy, sir,” Asami joked, despite the knot in her stomach.

Fortunately, Tenzin laughed.

He took another sip of his tea before sighing. “Well, let’s get down to business. We’re both short on time, I presume…”

Normally, bael fruit tea was calming. Asami felt like she was drinking coffee today.

Tenzin pushed his cup of tea (unfinished) away and folded his hands on the desk. He surveyed Asami intently, the slightest of frowns creasing his forehead.

He looked nothing like him—from the top of his head to the soles of his shoes, they were radically different—yet Asami couldn’t help but flinch. Her heart accelerated.

_Count to ten. Breathe._

Asami began tapping the side of her cup.

Tenzin paused. His eyes were on her fingers.

“I think I should start by assuring you that you’re not in any kind of trouble, Asami,” Tenzin began softly.

Asami tried to still her fingers. Failed.

_Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about the cause._

A troubled look crossed Tenzin’s face. He shook his head and sighed, as though steeling himself to do something he didn’t entirely want to do.

“Asami…you’re not in trouble, but we do have to discuss your use of,” Tenzin lowered his voice, “dark magic.”

Asami’s fingers stopped.

_That’s…better than what I was expecting. But we’re not out of the woods, yet…_

“You’re a very gifted witch, Asami. Your ability to cast nonverbal magic at your age is remarkable,” Tenzin continued in a kinder tone.

Asami nodded rigidly. “Thank you, sir.”

Tenzin exhaled deeply, running a hand over his head. “But, a witch as brilliant as yourself would know that dark magic is very, _very_ illegal.”

Asami nodded again.

 “You’ve only used it in instances that are…noble, to say the least,” Tenzin commented mildly, the ghost of a smile on his face. Then, he grew solemn again. “But you rely upon it almost like a crutch—almost like instinct. Even in the event of Korra’s…accident,” Tenzin’s eyes hardened momentarily, “you used a curse to sever her leg, not any healing charms.”

Asami went as stiff as a rod.

A moment of darkness. She was falling, falling—failing—

It was her fatal flaw. Being a weapon of war.

That was all she knew.

“Uh, I don’t know any…healing charms…sir,” Asami confessed at last, lowering her gaze. She couldn’t bear to look at Tenzin. “I’m sorry…I just panicked—”

“I know,” Tenzin interrupted, not unkindly. “You reacted admirably given the circumstances.” He sighed. “However, the fact that the first spell that came to mind was an extremely dark curse that is known to cause unhealable wounds is rather… _alarming_ , to say the least. We’re incredibly fortunate that Korra’s…err…unique abilities allowed her body to counteract the effects. But I’m starting to worry that you only know dark magic, Asami,” he finished with a poised eyebrow.  

No matter how light-hearted the remark may have seemed, it would be downright absurd to not recognize the grave undertone.

“I know other magic too, sir!” Asami blurted.

She’d never wanted to shoot herself in the face so badly in her life.

Tenzin looked startled.

Then, he shook his head, chortling to himself.

“I’d expect that sort of inelegant response from Korra, Asami. Not you.”

Asami grinned sheepishly. “It’s the company I keep.”

Tenzin’s eyes twinkled again. “I concur.”

Then, the moment was gone.

“Given that our foes were also using dark magic, I believe the Ministry—even the Trace itself—couldn’t deduce the source,” Tenzin carried on grimly, pressing the tips of his fingertips together. “That being said, getting away with it is not an excuse to keep doing it.” A pause. He gazed at Asami severely. “Do I make myself, clear?”

He had.

Just—

This was perhaps the mildest punishment—if she could even call it that—Asami had ever experienced in her life.

(No, her mother had been rather benign. But that was a lifetime ago.)

She’d been caught using incredibly dangerous, forbidden magic, and for that, all she was getting was a slap on the wrist?

“Yes, sir.” Asami gazed at Tenzin expectantly, but all he did was gaze back at her. “Is that…is that it, sir?”

Tenzin tilted his head. “What do you propose?”

_Drills, starvation, psychological manipulation, broken ribs—_

“Err…whatever you see fit, sir?”

Tenzin shrugged. “I trust your word, Asami.”

Asami stared.

“ _Why_?” she blurted again before she could stop herself.

Tenzin raised an eyebrow.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Asami hesitated.

Tenzin’s face was unreadable.

She couldn’t tell if he knew, couldn’t tell if this was a test, and Tenzin wanted her to confess. She couldn’t tell if he’d seen for himself ages ago and was giving her a chance at redemption—or at least, the equivalent of a plea deal.

But more than anything, Asami wanted to admit to it herself.

“Actually, sir—”

“All I’m saying, Asami,” Tenzin cut her off, for perhaps the hundredth time, “is that you’d best be careful if you want to continue to keeping up appearances.”

The world stopped.

Asami suddenly felt very detached from her body altogether.

There was a distinct wetness on her lap—oh, she’d spilled her tea…

“These are troubled times. People are afraid. Irrational. We can’t afford to have someone as talented as you rotting in Azkaban,” Tenzin continued matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather.

Asami couldn’t find her voice.

It was stuck somewhere between her lungs and her throat, had gone hoarse and twisted with emotion—she feared she’d never be able to use it again—

“Let’s not give gossipers a reason to keep talking, shall we?”

Tenzin was grinning now, clearly entertained by Asami’s reaction.

“You…you knew, sir?” was all she could manage when she finally found her voice (thankfully, not lost forever).

Tenzin only raised an eyebrow playfully, as if to say, ‘What do you think?’

Asami’s mouth had gone dry.

She frowned and unfrowned, blinked, shook her head.

“Why didn’t you…?” Asami let the question hang, mostly because she couldn’t bring herself to verbalize it.

“Weren’t you listening?” Tenzin teased.

Asami blinked.

“Err…because I’m…gifted?”

Tenzin burst out laughing.

Once he’d calmed down, he shook his head and smiled warmly at Asami. It wasn’t unlike the look he’d been giving her earlier—the one that suggested great pride in her…existence.

It made sense, if she stopped to think about it.

Too much sense.

Why Tenzin accepted all of her excuses, no matter how poorly devised. Why he always took her side, even when the evidence was stacked against her. Why he, a professor she barely had any interaction with outside of a polite nod in passing, would go out of his way to buy her a solid gold cauldron that probably cost him three months of pay and not even an hour of her father’s. Why he never took any action against her when, if one was paying attention at all, it was so flagrantly, blatantly obvious that she was her father’s daughter.

Then, Tenzin said something that shattered the mirror, and the delusion Asami had been peering into for the last sixteen years was naught.  

“I always knew you’d end up on the right side. After all, you are your mother’s daughter.”

Asami’s cup shattered in her hands.

Alarmed, Tenzin leapt to his feet and drew his wand.

_“Reparo! Scourgify!”_

Asami barely felt the magic graze her.

(“Oh, thank Merlin…this is one of my mother’s favorite cups…”)

“You knew my mother, sir?” she asked after a very long silence, in a barely audible voice.

(Her faux accent had been long forgotten at this point—not that it was necessary any longer, but Tenzin was kind enough to not point it out.)

Tenzin, who was busy inspecting his recently repaired teacup, blinked.

“Oh—yes, we worked together. On multiple accounts, actually,” he corrected himself.

Asami could only stare at him, lips parted, with the gaze of a starving animal.

Tenzin smiled when he noticed. He waved his wand—the tea set floated off—and then folded his hands together on the desk again.

“Did you know your mother used to teach Potions at Hogwarts?” he began gently.

_That makes sense._

Asami, still numb from attempting (and failing) to process all the new information, shook her head. There was very little Yasuko had told Asami about her work.

“She did, sir?”

“Very briefly…I believe it was before you were born,” Tenzin mused, squinting with the effort of recalling. “She was soon recruited by my father for other work, as I’m sure she told you. She was one of the brightest witches I’ve ever met. She was several years my junior, but very talented, and had a knack for connecting with students.”

Asami wasn’t quite sure how she felt.

She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to feel anything at all.

There was something there, looming between her lungs, just below her heart. There was something more, something different, in the pit of her stomach. Her mind was screaming something else.

But everything was numb.

It was several moments before she could bring herself to speak again.

“She…she did tell me she worked for your father,” Asami rasped at last.

Tenzin nodded sympathetically.

A pause.

An opportunity.

“You wouldn’t tell me what they did, sir, would you?” Asami chanced, feeling bold.

“Well…I would, but,” Tenzin had a knowing smile, “I fear you’ll inform Korra. And she’s not ready to know yet.”

 _Right, I can’t keep things from him,_ Asami reminded herself.

She smiled back. “I understand, sir.”

 _Korra will kill me if she ever sees this._ A pause. _Actually, I’ll kill_ her _if she ever sees this._

Feeling—well, feeling feelings for the first time in the last ten minutes, Asami sighed. There was still business to attend to.

“I’m really, terribly sorry, sir,” Asami mumbled. “About—"

“I know, dear.” Tenzin smiled sadly at Asami. “There’s no need to apologize. I don’t hold you liable for your father’s actions.”

Asami frowned. “But I also—”

“Whatever you may have done during your time under Amon, knowing your character and sense of judgment, Asami, I doubt it was unjustified. Doing what you felt you need to in order to have a place in the world at your age…isn’t something that should be asked of any child.” Tenzin shook his head firmly. “Pay attention to the things you did after developing a sense of agency. The choices you made. Every single action you took in defiance of Amon all these months. Of your _father_.” He paused here to gaze at her meaningfully. “You know, we’re all indebted to you for what happened in the Room of Requirement.”

Suddenly, Asami was numb again.

_“I don’t know that anyone here even trusts me,” she’d hissed at Korra, eyes burning, angry and bitter—terrified about the consequences of her actions._

And here was Tenzin, smiling at her like she was his own godchild.

Then—

“I can’t help but feel that the Sorting Hat made a mistake.”

Asami’s heart sank.

_My fault. For getting ahead of myself like an idiot. What makes you think everything would go so smoothly?_

Bowing her head, Asami muttered, “I’m sorry, sir, I—”

“You belong in Gryffindor.”

Asami felt as though her soul had left her body.

Her head shot up. She stared at Tenzin in disbelief, searching for some sign of reproach or disappointment—derision or malice—

When she found none, nothing but pride in her actions—her character—she could only gaze at him in awe.

(“I never make a mistake,” the Sorting Hat grumbled.)

After an eternity, Asami found her voice again.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking…how long have you known, exactly?”

Tenzin rolled his eyes up to the ceiling to think.

“About…a day after Korra found out?”

Asami blanched. “She—?”

“She didn’t tell me,” Tenzin chuckled. “She’s just much worse at Occlumency than she believes. Don’t tell her.”

Asami snorted—and then hastily tried to cough it off. Tenzin’s lips twitched knowingly but he didn’t comment on it. 

Clearing her throat, Asami probed delicately, “Does Korra know that you…err…know?”

“Yes, I informed her over break.”

Suddenly, Korra’s earlier behavior made a lot more sense. (Though, it made sense even without context.)

Asami lowered her eyes, smiling unconsciously.

When she glanced up again, Tenzin was looking at her strangely. An unfathomable smile graced his lips.

“I believe she withheld this information to protect your feelings—or else, give you time to process everything.” He chortled. “I must say though, you reacted much more mildly than she did, faced with your own impending doom.”

The implication wasn’t lost on Asami.

She stared at Tenzin, who gazed back in amusement.

 _Korra reacted more than I did? Over_ my _fate?_

It was stupid. It was this stupid, virulent current of hope that shot through her chest, this unsolicited, unwelcome, _cursed_ idealism, that just maybe—

Then, Asami turned bright pink.

_Oh god, please tell me Tenzin doesn’t know about—_

To her sheer relief, he started talking about something else.

“Additionally, it has come to my attention that you and Korra discovered the Mirror of Erised over Christmas break.”

Asami’s relief evaporated.

She hung her head, refused to make eye contact with Tenzin.

Then, to her surprise—

“Did you notice the glowing orbs?”

When Asami peeked at Tenzin, he was watching her with a sort of mischievous curiosity. (It hardly suited him—more befitting his elder brother.)

“Err…” she hesitated.

There was a flicker. While she’d been trying to negotiate with Korra, there had been some pesky creatures—if they had sentience—objects—if not—that’d been levitating about.

“Oh! Err, yes, I think so.”

Tenzin’s lips twitched. “Did you pay attention to their behavior?”

Asami hung her head again. “No, not really, sir…”

Tenzin’s smile widened. “They’re called Truthseekers.”  

Asami nodded, waiting.

But Tenzin didn’t explain further.

“Err, is that it, sir?”

Tenzin nodded, still smiling.

Asami rubbed the back of her neck (another one of Korra’s influences). Glanced around.

“Then, may I be excused?” she chanced.

All the emotional ambushes over the last hour had manifested themselves into a particularly nasty headache.

“Of course. I believe Korra is waiting for you outside, if I’m not mistaken.” Asami turned bright red. “Run along now.”

Asami managed to stutter out a farewell before tripping over the leg of her chair.

Funny. She was the infallible heiress of Sato Industries before the most cutthroat, notorious names of the wizarding world, and yet, it only took a mention of Korra to reduce her to an inelegant mess.

Asami had (miraculously) reached the door when she remembered something.

“Sir?”

Tenzin, who’d resumed shifting through his paperwork, glanced up. “Hm?”

Asami cleared her throat.

(Her voice had gone hoarse again.)

“My mother, sir,” she began unsteadily. “Was she a—?”

“Ravenclaw,” Tenzin beamed affirmatively.

Asami’s eyes began watering.

“Thank you, sir.” 

She left without another word.

 

* * *

 

Detention was the last thing on Korra’s mind as she sprinted through the halls.

There was time, she told herself. (Yet, somehow, she was sure she wouldn’t make it.)

There was time. Several hours, in fact.

Yet, all Korra could feel was the poison in her lungs, the walls closing in on her, and the tyrannous tides of time marching on mercilessly.

(And she didn’t know who’d be left standing.)

Korra burst into Tenzin’s office in a cold sweat, out of breath, wide-eyed, one hand on the door and the other on her wand.

Tenzin, Lin, and—to Korra’s momentary surprise—Iroh were inside, engaged in some sort of grave discussion. They all stared at her.

“Korra, what are you doing out of bed? It’s well past midnight—”

“He’s coming,” Korra cut Tenzin off.

Silence.

The three of them glanced at each other.

“He’s coming,” Korra repeated. She crossed the room, grabbed Tenzin by the robes, and tugged him down so that he could look into her eyes and see it for himself.

“It’s tomorrow. Amon’s moving into his endgame.”


End file.
